


The Black Family's PR Nightmare

by elphabalives17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family Madness (Harry Potter), Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, House Elves, Manipulation, Morally Grey Albus Dumbledore, Original Character(s), Press and Tabloids, Pureblood Hermione Granger, Strong Female Characters, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 134,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27418813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elphabalives17/pseuds/elphabalives17
Summary: Cassiopeia Black may prefer research to family politics, but she refuses to allow her family name to be ruined after the events of fall 1981. With the help of a routine obsessed house elf, Cassiopeia sets out to spin the Black family's largest PR nightmare in 100 years with a lot of old magic, some luck, and her Squib brother's family... the Grangers.
Comments: 255
Kudos: 624





	1. Breakfast is Sacred

**A/N:** Hi there! This work is heavily inspired by the Black family tree as seen in the movies (blast marks and all), and Cassiopeia Black and Hermione Granger will be the stars of this story. Originally this story was published on fanfiction.net, but due to some posting issues and popular request I've joined AO3 as well. New readers, welcome! If you enjoy, please review! It's been years since I've picked up a pen (or keyboard) and I'd love to hear your opinions or hopes for the story. Regular posting schedule is Mondays and Wednesdays weekly, however, the first 32 chapters will be rapidly posted to match the story's current status on fanfiction.net.

 **Disclaimer:** All rights to the Harry Potter universe belong to JK Rowling, all rights to other referenced books/stories belong to their respective authors (please don't sue me, I'm already broke from planning a wedding).

* * *

_November 2, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

When Cassiopeia Black moved out of Black Manor, the Black family house elves spent hours arguing over who would accompany her. No self-respecting elf wanted to give up serving the prestigious Black estate in favor of an academically minded spinster.

Pip thought it was a very good thing that she was not a particularly self-respecting elf.

Pip had waited until every other Black house elf was well and truly terrified that their straw may be drawn to go with Miss Cassiopeia before stepping forward, ears flat against her skull, and volunteering. Her kinfolk's palpable relief paled in the face of her own hidden glee as she set about packing.

Life with Miss Cassiopeia had quickly proven not to be the quiet, steady existence that Pip had planned, but 49 years later and she was still perfectly smug when she remembered the day that she and her mistress had arrived at Chateau Black in France.

"I'm really only interested in my research, Pip- you can take care of the rest, can't you?" Cassiopeia had said, waving her hand around airily.

"The rest, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"Oh you know, all of the house of course, and maybe you could keep track of my calendar, and I suppose you'll need to manage the mail, and-," Cassiopeia shrugged. "I can just leave it to you to figure things out, can't I?"

And Pip had. By the end of their first year together, Pip had confidently taken control of the entire household and was scheduling nearly every waking moment of her mistress's life. Cassiopeia wanted no part in making decisions outside of her research labs.

The most sacred of the routines Pip had established? Breakfast.

At exactly 8 am each morning, Pip pulled back the heavy brocade curtains in Miss Cassiopeia's bedroom and began the rather laborious process of getting the now 66 year old woman into her robe and tucked in front of the drop leaf table in her en suite. There, artfully arranged according to a book Pip had found on elegant dining, sat two perfectly soft boiled eggs with soldiers, a rather large cup of Lady Grey, the day's correspondence, and the Daily Prophet.

Pip would then settle onto a tiny chair near the window and watch with hawk-like intensity as her mistress first skimmed through her homeland's newspaper, then alternated between eating and opening any owl post she'd received.

Today was no different than the day before, and the day before was no different than a year before. Routine was the linchpin of the pair's existence, and Pip was quite sure that nothing could possibly interrupt their routine.

"Morgana, Pip- the British Dark Lord is apparently dead."

Pip squinted at her Mistress. "And Missy Cassiopeia feels?"

"Oh, mildly indifferent I suppose. Sweet Dorea never did support his cause, but I suppose that Pollux was rather invested." Cassiopeia shrugged dismissively, then frowned. "Pip, remind me the name of Dorea's boy?"

"Missy's sister's son is called James."

"Oh dear. Pip, the paper claims that young James and his wife- he was old enough for Hogwarts already? Goodness!- this paper claims that he and his wife were murdered before their son stopped the British Dark Lord."

Well, that wasn't good. Great nephews in diapers defeating dark lords seemed like the sort of the thing to send Cassiopeia into a researching frenzy for days. "And Missy feels…?" Pip asked carefully.

Tossing aside the paper in favor of a long handled spoon, Cassiopeia shrugged once more. "The boy is at least part Black through my sister- I'm sure Pollux will handle it."

* * *

_November 4, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

Pip winced as Miss Cassiopeia spit tea across the table, the newspaper, and herself. "Is the tea being too hot for Missy Cassiopeia?"

"No, no, Pip. Sirius Black- that is the name of Pollux's grandson, isn't it?"

"Missy's brother has two grandsons, he does. Sirius and Regulus."

"And there is no other Sirius Black right now, is there?" Cassiopeia looked rather hopeful as she stared back and forth from the paper to her house elf.

"No, Missy." Pip was rather confident of this fact- she had not only memorized the entirety of the Black family, but also their birthdays and anniversaries in order to send gifts on behalf of her mistress.

"They're saying he betrayed Dorea's boy's family, was involved with the British Dark Lord, and that he blew up 13 muggles and a school friend yesterday. Oh, Pip, can you imagine the sheer lack of subtlety?"

Pip had served the Black family since birth, so indeed she could not. But… "Missy's great nephew was a Gryffindor."

"Tosh, Pip- frankly, that just makes it even more unbelievable- what Gryffindor betrays their friends? What Black betrays close family?"

Pip shrugged. "And Missy feels?"

The rapid tap-tap-tap of Cassopeia's egg spoon on the table lasted several long minutes before she responded. "Increasingly distrubed, Pip. Increasingly disturbed."

Pip was relieved when Cassiopeia continued eating breakfast- the normal routine would, she was certain, make the mistress feel better.

* * *

_November 8, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

At 8 am sharp, Pip pulled apart the heavy brocade curtains in her mistress's room- only to find Cassiopeia sitting up in bed.

"Missy?"

"Oh, everything is fine, Pip. I suppose I just woke up on my own today." Cassiopeia smiled encouragingly at the little house elf and swung her feet out of bed without a word of complaint or censure for the bright sunlight.

Pip was fairly confident that everything was NOT alright if her mistress was breaking their morning routine after 49 years, but said nothing. She bundled Cassiopeia up in the new robe she had purchased the day before, selected for seasonal warmth and trimmed in Pip's favorite mint green, and settled her in for breakfast. As per usual, the Daily Prophet was the first thing Cassiopeia picked up.

"Morgana! You have got to be kidding me!"

"Missy?"

"Bellatrix Lestrange- wasn't she a Black?" Cassiopeia's storm grey eyes flashed and her dark curls sparked with magic as she continued through the paper. "And Narcissa Malfoy- wasn't she?"

Pip groaned internally. More family members in the paper? This was a rotten month for it apparently. "Missy's brother had three granddaughters, he did. Two are being called Bellatrix and Narcissa."

"And tell me Pip, my cousin who married a Longbottom- did she have a sprog called Frank?"

Pip ran through the list of names in his head. Callidora had Harold and Calanthia. There were no male Longbottoms of their line afterwards. "No Missy, none called Frank."

"Still! The Longbottoms are part of the Sacred 28 and the Blacks have now- oh Pip, this is disgusting. Not to mention entirely unambitious."

"Missy?"

"Bellatrix and her husband used an Unforgivable to torture the Longbottom heir and his wife into insanity while their baby watched- a Crouch was involved too. Hopefully not one of Charis's line."

"What was the Crouch being called Missy?"

"Bartemius, Jr."

The expression on Pip's face was apparently enough to confirm for Cassiopeia that yet another Black relative had made an idiotic choice.

"Lovely," the older witch said drily. "Comparatively, it's almost a relief that Narcissa's husband is the one in trouble."

"Missy's feeling…?"

Cassiopeia stood, moving to stare out the window at the grounds of Chateau Black. Pip had always ensured they were flawlessly manicured, if rather deadly- the elf had a long running obsession with poisonous plants.

"Frankly, Pip, I am perfectly horrified. We are going to have to do something."

Pip promptly toppled out of her chair. Miss Cassiopeia wanted to get involved in family politics? This was new- and new was never a good thing.

"And what will Missy be doing?" Pip demanded, crossing her long arms over her toga. "Missy has a schedule, and Pip must be knowing if things need changed around for today!"

Cassiopeia glanced over her shoulder to grin at the elf. "Pip, I think we may need to move around the schedule for more than just today."

"WHAT?"

"It'll take more than a day to handle the family's biggest PR nightmare in three centuries, Pip. This new project could take years- it could be the biggest experiment we've undertaken yet!" A rather manic gleam appeared in Cassiopeia's eyes as she snatched Pip's quill off the floor and began scribbling notes in the margins of the Daily Prophet.

Pip stared at her mistress in shock. "Years, Missy?

"I may not always be the most active family member," Casseiopia said seriously, oblivious to her house elf's impending panic attack, "but I do refuse to let the Black name go down in history as just pawns of some British Dark Lord- and I know exactly how to do it."

As her Mistress swept out of the room, muttering about old magic and the importance of good PR, Pip found herself staring at the uneaten meal on the table in horror.

Breakfast was ruined, and if Pip was a betting elf (which she was- she'd nearly doubled her mistress's fortune after the last Quidditch World Cup) then she would wager that this was just the first of many routines to be turned upside down.


	2. A Standing Invite To Tea

_November 9, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

When Cassiopeia Black left England at the tender age of 17, she vaguely expected to return with some frequency. Holidays, funerals, rituals, funerals, ceremonies, funerals- there were plenty of reasons to either Portkey or Floo across the channel at least once per season if she wanted to.

It would seem she hadn't wanted to.

Over the course of 49 years, she'd returned only a handful of times- mostly for funerals. Each time she'd been summoned, Pip had spent days carefully packing, unpacking, and reorganizing her travel trunk before forcing Cassiopeia into whatever abominable robes were currently in fashion for travel. Each time, Pip had full knowledge of their itinerary for the entire trip, complete with notes for Cassiopeia about the reason for their visit (this precaution was deemed necessary after Cassiopeia returned home for her mother's funeral and wished everyone a Most Merry Yule… in June). This trip was… different.

"Missy Cassiopeia, if you would just be giving Pip one week, Pip would be having an all new wardrobe for Missy Cassiopeia to go with!" Pip pleaded, tugging anxiously at the bottom of her toga as her mistress tossed random robes in the general direction of her travel trunk.

"No time, you silly creature, I've already told you! This is our next great project, and we must react with due haste." Cassiopeia eyed her jewelry box. "But I do admit you should probably finish the packing in here- anything I could need for every possible occasion, if you please. Perhaps I will see to packing up the labs now-,"

"NO!" Pip squeaked, eyes so wide they threatened to pop out of her head, "Missy mustn't! Missy must…." Pip stopped, and the gleam that entered her eye made her look entirely too mischievous for any self-respecting house elf (which, of course, Pip was not). "Missy Cassiopeia must be preparing for our project, she must. Initial research is most important! Pip will handle ALL of the packing for her mistress."

Cassiopeia was very much aware that her house elf would put a majority of the Slytherins she'd gone to school with to shame, but she'd never been one to crush initiative (nor had she ever been one to enjoy packing). "Quite right, Pip, I'll be in the study working on a timeline of the family's disasters then."

Pip nearly dropped to the floor in sheer relief when she left the room. Instead, she scurried to unpack everything that her mistress had tried to pack, muttering irritably about witches who had no appreciation for color coordination or wrinkle-resistance spells.

It was past lunch when Cassiopeia's travel trunk was shrunk down and tucked into one deep pocket of the burgundy travel robes that Pip had chosen for her mistress. A matching hat was carefully pinned atop the charmed black curls, and they were ready to leave.

"Missy Cassiopeia is wanting Pip to come as well?" Pip asked hesitantly. She had, of course, already packed the few items she needed for herself (mainly secretarial items) but confirmation was important to gain before leaving the home undefended.

"Of course Pip, who else will look after me? I did tell you this could take quite some time," Cassiopeia regarded her elf with some surprise at the mere insinuation that they would separate indefinitely. In their 49 years together, she had only left Pip in France while she traveled twice.

Witch and house elf regarded one another quite seriously for a long moment before, smiling eagerly, Cassiopeia turned to the large fireplace specially designated for Floo travel. "Hold tight Pip, we might have to crash through a ward or two. I do hope she didn't add any new traps."

* * *

_November 9, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

Isla Calderon may have married into a family wealthy beyond belief for their invention of more stable cauldrons in a variety of materials, but warding was her real birthright. As such, her own rooms in Calderon Castle were better protected than most Gringott's vaults. Without her explaining the key hidden in her warding layers, no one could get in or out.

Even her husband didn't know the secret to dismantling her wards.

So it was rather a shock when, while taking tea in her sitting room, the entire fireplace began to wobble.

An intruder had made it through her initial Floo screen? How rare! Isla smiled morbidly, imagining how mangled the body that the Floo would spit out would be by the time it made its slow progress through each trap she had laid.

"Tolly!"

Isla's newest house elf appeared at her side instantly. "Mistress?"

Isla nodded towards the clearly upset fireplace. "You've been in training for what, six months now? Have you seen what happens when people cross through our wards uninvited?"

The trainee (a baby, really, at a mere 50 years of age) shook his bald head.

"It starts like this, with the shakes and distortions. Next, you'll hear some crunching- bone breakers- followed by, if memory serves, rather a lot of screaming through some acid splashes. Depending on the strength of our intruder, we may make it to the third trap- entrail expelling curses- before they fall through."

Tolly made an apprehensive little _eep_!-ing noise, and darted behind his mistress's chair to watch the fireplace. They both listened for the sound of crunching to begin, and if Isla were said to have looked rather excited by the prospect, well, this was really just professional interest was it not?

Except quite suddenly, the rather undignified wobbling stopped. And a chime sounded, followed by a noise quite like someone tromping loudly down wooden stairs.

"Should Tolly be getting the Master for intruder…?" the elf looked incredibly surprised- day one of lessons had been a study in the strength of Calderon Castle's wards, after all.

Isla narrowed her eyes at the fireplace, then huffed theatrically. "No need. Just bring another setting for tea- and I'm sure she still likes biscuits, so best bring a plate of those as well."

"Mistress invited a... guest?"

"Mistress gave a standing invitation quite a long time ago," Isla said dryly, "Apparently it's just now being taken up on. Now Cassiopeia Black, would you please pull yourself out of my Floo?"

The tromping noise abruptly stopped, and Cassiopeia toppled out of the fireplace with a house elf clinging to her skirt. "Entrail expelling layer? That's new." The extremely exasperated looking elf she'd brought poked her Mistress in the hip with one too-long finger. "What Pip- oh, right, good manners. Isla, you seem dangerous as ever. I hope you don't mind me barging in."

" _Safe_ as ever, darling, it sounds much better than dangerous," Isla chastened. "Best sit down I suppose. Tea?" Tolly had just popped back into the room with a second setting.

"That'd be wonderful," Cassiopeia settled delicately into the paisley patterned chair across from her host, Pip taking post behind her. "That's why I'm here, you know."

"Two sugars, no cream still? And really, darling, you owl me once a week- I hardly think public opinion is a good reason to fall through my fireplace."

"Three sugars, if you please, it's been quite a long day."

Isla passed the toothache inducingly sweet tea across her spindle legged table, glancing towards one of a dozen photo frames on top of the mantle. In it, two Slytherin girls stood attached at the arm and hip, laughing loudly at some forgotten joke. The girl on the left was tall and lithe with bright blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smile like the cat who had gotten the cream. The girl on the right was her opposite- shorter, more compact, with jet black curls and the famous Black family grey eyes. Isla didn't make a habit of being nostalgic- really, who had time?- but a flicker of affection shot through her when she considered that this was the very first time her oldest friend had taken her up on the standing invitation to tea she had made after graduation.

Looking back to Cassiopeia, Isla gently crossed her ankles. "What do you need, darling?"

"My research has determined that the Black family is currently suffering our worst PR nightmare since Great Aunt Elladora attempted to pass Muggle Hunting through the Wizengamot in 1901. I'm fairly confident you're the only one who can help me handle it."

Well, the papers for the past two years had been rather clear about the Black family's involvement in the war, and the most recent convictions had hardly helped matters. But research? It rather sounded like Cassiopeia was taking the whole family on a project- and everyone knew how Cassiopeia felt about projects. "Why aren't you talking to your paterfamilias about this? Or Pollux?"

To Pip's visible dismay and Isla's more hidden delight, Cassiopeia did not bother to mince words. "Arcturus is an idiot. Pollux is a slightly more tolerable idiot, but his word doesn't affect Arcturus in the slightest. And everyone else in my generation but Callidora are dead."

"And you've no faith in the next generation? Orion is next in line, I understand, and Cygnus has his first grandchild now."

"All children raised by idiots become greater idiots, if the timeline I've compiled is any indication. The Prewett lot might be alright- they haven't been in the papers at least- but Orion and Cygnus seem to have both failed their own offspring. There is no longer an actual Black scion- there is no one to redeem the family name before we almost inevitably die out. A whole Ancient and Noble house will be forgotten as merely a Dark footnote in history if nothing is done."

Isla could hardly disagree with that statement either- already others in the Sacred 28 made jokes about how the Malfoy and Potter families would be left fighting over who got the Black fortune. "Arcturus is rather stubborn, how on earth are you going to change his mind?"

"Leave that to me."

Curiosity burned in the back of her throat, but Isla managed to restrain herself to a brief nod. "So to be clear, you want to re-establish the Black name as…. respectable?"

"Right on," Cassiopeia raised her tea cup in an informal salute.

"And you think that I, as in myself specifically, am the best choice to help you get what you want?"

The barking laugh was not the response Isla expected in face of her dubious expression. "How many times has your daughter been widowed while remaining the darling of the press now? Five?"

"Six, actually. You may remember that Elvira had a child last year with the most recent, an Italian wizard named Zabini, before he was caught in a storm on his broom." Isla smiled and summoned a much newer picture frame from the mantle. "This is my little grandson, Blaise."

"He's a doll- perfectly symmetrical features and your own husband's complexion, if I remember correctly." Cassiopeia offered. "So, you'll help?"

Isla smiled coyly. "Tell me, darling, when was the last time you talked to your other brother?"


	3. The Black Twins

_November 10, 1981_

_Granger Corp Headquarters, London_

When Marius Granger was blasted off the family tree in 1929, he was relieved. After all, most of the Black family squibs died tragically, magical status publicly unknown.

He'd rather expected to be drowned- or maybe to break his neck in a hippogriff riding accident. Instead, his twin had offered up a rather unexpected solution.

"Father, Uncle, I would petition you for the sake of House Black," Cassiopeia had solemnly intoned as she watched the two men play Wizard's Chess in the front parlor.

Father had looked rather skeptical, but Uncle Sirius was delighted- he had no girls of his own, and considered them to be rather amusing creatures. Fortunately for Cassiopeia (and Marius too), it was Uncle Sirius's opinion who mattered.

"Oh, would you?" The Black paterfamilias quirked one dark eyebrow, and from his hidden spot beneath the stairs Marius watched his twin sister visibly straighten her back in response.

"Certainly, sir. I have discovered a beneficial use for my twin."

"The squib?" Uncle Sirius demanded, rather shocked. Most of the family spent their time pretending Marius didn't exist- it was much easier on the Black family ego.

"Yes, sir. Marius may be defective, but he is still a Black by blood. As such, he's at least better than any muggle. He's certainly smarter than any of them, don't you think?"

While Uncle Sirius looked increasingly skeptical, Father had nodded firmly at this- no child of his, squib or no, would be considered equal to- let alone _below-_ dirty muggles. This was the exact reason that murdering his squib son on his 11th birthday would be a perfectly moral mercy killing.

"With Mother's approval I've done some study of the Black accounts, and I now believe that we could triple our fortune through muggle investments. Their markets are growing at a rate that our world cannot duplicate, even with the current economic strife they are seeing." Cassiopeia pulled a stack of parchment out from behind her back, carefully laying it on the table between the two men.

"And why would Marius be needed for these investments? Do you not believe we can manage them ourselves? What does a squib have to offer?" Uncle Sirius was outright taunting now, but his eyes were skimming over Cassiopeia's tidy handwriting hungrily.

Gold didn't talk to the Blacks- it sang. Loudly.

"I believe that with the rate of investment I am suggesting, the project would need a daily manager- someone who can seamlessly fit in with the muggles and understand their trending economics. We are Blacks, sir, and I believe we are best served by family in any position." Cassiopeia's nerves were betrayed only by the slight tapping of her foot, almost hidden by her robes. "No respectable wizarding relative of ours wants to work with muggles. Marius is the perfect fit."

They hadn't let him keep his name, of course- Uncle Sirius had stated firmly that if the family magic rejected him, he didn't deserve to be known as a Black. But his life had been his, and "Granger" had a rather nice ring to it.

After he was blasted off the family tapestry and sent away to learn how to make Muggle money for the Blacks, Marius expected to not see any of his siblings again. Here, too, he had been pleasantly surprised. Pollux may have conveniently forgotten him, but Dorea had volunteered to meet him for a "business lunch" once each quarter to review accounts (and gossip about the rest of the family), and Cassiopeia…. Well.

His twin sister had never failed to respond to his letters, and her house elf had invited first him and later his whole family to France for a visit the second week of June each year (attempts to schedule this visit for different dates had always been met with a strangely frantic deferral to the next year on part of the house elf). His own invitations for her to visit for holidays or family gatherings or even their shared birthday had, however, always been firmly rejected.

The repeated rejections bothered his wife to the point that Agnes had complained quite loudly about it after downing several cups of eggnog one Christmas. "Honestly, she's skipped all the children's christenings, and she doesn't have the decency to pop in on a holiday even- she's as much of a snob as your older brother!"

Marius had laughed aloud at the very thought that Pollux and Cassiopeia had anything other than eye color in common. "You don't understand, Aggie. Cass would never say a word about it, but she's really had to give up quite a lot for my sake."

"How so?"

Agnes Granger nee Selwyn was a muggle, but her father had been a squib, so she often understood Marius's childhood traumas better than he himself did. However, her father had not been a twin, and some Pureblood elitist stigmas surrounding a Squib's family had not been explained to her.

"Squibs among the old families are rare, and no one actually knows what they're caused by. My father was a firm believer in the concept of "blocked magic", which means that a squib _has_ a magical core but can't access it. This is actually a fairly progressive theory, by pureblood standards." Progressive, but brutal- Marius quite intentionally left out the fact that the purebloods who believed in the block also believed it could be 'shocked' into oblivion if a squib child was sufficiently threatened. Marius himself had been dangled out of no less than 20 windows by his father.

"My mother, on the other hand, was more traditional. She believed, as does most of the rest of the Sacred 28, that squibs are the result of a curse on the pregnancy. That theory explains away the fact that one child could be magically powerful and the next magicless." It also allowed his slightly self-centered mother to spend hours moaning over her own misfortunes rather than those of her children.

"Pretty much all purebloods also believe that twins, especially identical twins, share their magic freely between them. Even non identical twins like Cass and I should have been able to support one another's casting if we were both magical- it's something about the joint womb experience."

Agnes looked skeptical. "A baby's magic is strong enough to merge with their womb-mate while they still have a tail?"

"First of all, points for saying womb-mate because that is an absolutely awful pun. Secondly, yes. Magic apparently makes twin fetal development a lot more, well…. makes it a much more shared experience." Marius gave her his best really-I'm-not-the-nerdy-twin-don't-ask-me shrug before continuing. "So pretty much every member of the Sacred 28 thinks that Cass and I shared literally every magical trauma- and by that I mean theoretical curse- and because of that she's presumed to be tainted."

"But she _has_ magic- so how is she tainted? Admittedly she is the swottiest person I've ever met, but that seems more like a curse on everyone who makes the mistake of asking her about her latest research."

Marius threw a pillow at his wife. "Be glad she only held you hostage in the lab for four hours, Aggie dear, it could have been much worse I _assure_ you."

Agnes muttered something into her eggnog that sounded suspiciously like, "Five more minutes and I'd be dead of boredom."

Marius released a much put upon sigh. " _Anyways_ , wife- the general population's belief is that the curse took my magic but that it will take her children's magic. Cass knew she wouldn't be allowed to court, or get married, or have children the very second I was publicly declared a squib."

There were other consequences, too, but Marius had never gotten around to sharing them with his wife as Agnes (now more than just "several" cups of eggnog deep) had promptly burst into sympathetic tears for her least favorite sister-in-law. Things like dealing with their mother's spite, and being considered an undesirable mistress by the house elves, and having to handle a rather unfortunate amount of teasing about his existence from other Hogwarts students.

No, Marius didn't begrudge Cassiopeia's choice to stay in France one bit, and he had long since come to terms with her choice to avoid English soil on all but the most required of occasions (mostly funerals). He didn't expect to ever see her set foot in his home, let alone visit Granger Corporation (which had been built entirely based on her early models).

Therefore it was quite the shock when one perfectly average Wednesday morning, his secretary popped her head through the door and said, "Mr. Granger, a Miss Cassiopeia Black just arrived in the lobby and is requesting you personally. Should I send her in?"

"Pardon?"

"A Miss Cassiopeia Black is in the lobby, should I send her in?"

"I'm sorry Komal, one more time?"

Komal, who had been hired for her sharp tongue and brilliant wit but not for possessing a single iota of patience, glared at him through narrowed brown eyes. "A woman just walked into the lobby," she said, extremely slowly and loudly, "Her name is Cassiopeia Black. Cassiopeia Black, the woman in the lobby, would like to see you. Would you like me to bring her back?"

"Oh yes, please do Komal, right away." Marius said somewhat numbly, still starting at the much younger woman in shock. Komal heaved a sigh, shooting him a look that screamed, "you can hardly say right away when you aren't listening to me you idiot" and also "you seem more insane than normal, I am totally calling your wife" before leaving the room.

In less than two minutes- certainly not enough time for Marius to compose himself or even begin to imagine why on earth Cassiopeia could possibly have come to visit- Komal had reappeared with guest in tow.

Well, she certainly looked like Cassiopeia, though he couldn't quite imagine Cassiopeia picking out that clearly muggle blazer with structured shoulders and large golden buttons. Body snatchers?

"Can I get you anything to drink before I go?"

"No, thank you, we'll be fine." Ok, the voice was definitely correct, but that didn't rule out something inane like polyjuice.

Komal nodded politely and closed the door behind her with one last narrow glanced reminder for Marius to pull himself together.

"Bonjour, little brother."

The familiar taunt snapped him out of it. "I'm not even a minute younger than you, as you well know."

Cassiopeia waved a hand dismissively. "Facts are facts, Marius, don't argue." She glanced around the room, wandering over to the bookshelf to poke at a decorative set of potions vials that Marius's daughter had insisted made a better vase. "You know, I'd be willing to bet this isn't quite what Pip imagined you'd use these for when she sent them."

"Your house elf is pretty rubbish at picking birthday gifts, you know." Marius laughed, and gestured for Cassiopeia to sit down in one of the two hunter green wing back chairs in front of his desk. "Is this a social visit then?"

"Business, actually."

Immediately Marius's mind jumped to the hundreds of thousands of galleons that Granger Corp could rake in if Cassiopeia was brought on board as a head researcher. They could break into wizarding markets in a matter of days! Imagine, the Black family squib taking over the-!

A bit squeakily, "Business?"

"Why else would I come to your actual workplace, Marius? Now you'll need to see- oh, bother. Pip!"

It had been too many years since Marius last lived with house elves for him to avoid flinching when the old elf popped into existence by Cassiopeia's shoulder. "Missy Cassiopeia is forgetting her briefcase again."

"Hello there, Pip," Marius saluted the house elf jovially, getting a look nearly as quelling as Komal's in return.

"Missy's brother has precisely 49 minutes left to agree to everything Missy Cassiopeia is telling him before our next appointment," Pip warned, and quickly began pulling stacks of newspapers and scribbled on parchments from the magically expanded case that Cassiopeia had apparently forgotten wherever she was coming from.

It took 30 of Pip's carefully allotted minutes for Cassiopeia to explain the current state of family affairs.

"What? Dorea's boy is dead?" Marius gaped, only to have his jaw nearly hit the desk when Cassiopeia described Sirus's involvement. "Surely not! Dorea said that Sirius put frog spawn in Pollux's tea- I refuse to believe he's anything other than good!"

Cygnus's daughters' actions didn't particularly surprise him, but he did let out several, "Morgana! Did they really?"'s that left Cassiopeia huffing impatiently.

"Honestly Marius, do you even know what a newspaper is? Pip, please ensure my brother begins getting a proper newspaper immediately."

With only 19 minutes left to explain what she needed, Cassiopeia cut straight to the point. "Anyways Marius, I'll need to borrow your family for Isla and I's redemption plan."

"Wait, what?"

"Your family. I need to borrow them. Probably permanently, which I suppose is a bit more than a loan, but-,"

"Why on earth do you need my family?" Marius demanded, smashing one palm on the desk impatiently. Neither woman or house elf flinched.

"Rule one of a good PR campaign Marius- convince them you care about their cause. And what's more politically Light right now than a Squib, his muggle child, and his Muggleborn granddaughter?"

"Wait, WHAT?"


	4. She's A Witch

_November 9, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

Isla smiled coyly. "Tell me, darling, when was the last time you talked to your _other_ brother?"

Cassiopeia glanced at Pip uncertainly. "Good question- Pip, when was the last time we talked to Marius?"

Pip squinted her eyes shut and tugged at one ear in thought. "Missy Cassiopeia wrote back to her brother's last letter on October 30th at breakfast. Pip was sending the letter with the owl at exactly 11 the same day."

"Does he still visit Chateau Black regularly?" Isla's question may have been directed towards Cassopeia, but it was Pip who she looked to for a response.

"Missy's brother and his family are visiting the second week of June every year. They was missing their visits in 1951 and 1973," Here Pip cracked one eye open with a rather fierce scowl for a house elf, "And they was trying to reschedule their visit in 1956, 1961, and 1977. Pip told them no of course."

"Of course." Isla restrained her desire to snort into her tea. "Cassiopeia, didn't you write that Marius's grandchild is magical?"

"Likely. I took on a commissioned project from MACUSA that aimed to either debunk or prove the myth that squibs have blocked magic. The potion I created glows a different color depending on the size of the tested individual's magical core. I had Pip collect some of each of Marius's family members' blood to conduct my trial studies, and only one of them had a magical core sizable enough to be compatible with wand use or continuous magic manipulation."

Isla raised a single blonde eyebrow. "Why haven't I heard of this? I'd think that every magical family in the world would want to know the size of their child's magical core."

"I haven't released it." At Isla's absolutely gobsmacked expression, Cassiopeia grinned. "I provided MACUSA with the proof, but not the recipe. Releasing it would have resulted in…. Well. Imagine knowing you had a squib child from day one? Or imagine if you could identify muggle borns in the cradle?"

Isla didn't need Cassiopeia to finish her thought- without regulation, a potion of that capability would cause a slaughter or a kidnapping spree. "Moving on, then," she grimaced, "So how old is the girl? I'd like to be able to present her as something of a foil to her cousins. How are her manners?"

"Deplorable," Cassiopeia grinned. "I do hate to disappoint you Is, but I'm afraid she's in diapers."

"Diapers?" Isla asked faintly before looking beseechingly at Pip.

"Missy Cassiopeia's information is out of date," Pip offered, and Isla brightened. "She's probably potty trained by now."

Isla groaned and, seeing no more cheery alternative, ate a biscuit.

* * *

_November 10, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

"Something is definitely going on."

Helen Granger glanced at her husband from where she sat on the parlor floor helping their two year old daughter with a Muppets puzzle. "You seem a bit unhealthily suspicious of your parents today," she noted as she handed Hermione Kermit's head.

Daniel frowned. "I don't know about unhealthily, but suspicious is fair enough. Mum has never sounded so flustered in her _life_."

"Maybe a bit of a surprise then?"

"On a Wednesday?"

Helen rolled her eyes at her husband before grinning down at her daughter. "Daddy's just grouchy he had to cancel his silly dragons game tonight, isn't he my darling girl?"

Hermione grinned. "Daddy, dragons!"

Quite against his will, Daniel felt his lips tipping upward. "That's Dungeons and Dragons, pet, not just dragons." Reaching down, he scooped Hermione up and hoisted her above his head to the sound of delighted giggles. "S'pose you're probably right Hel. I'll take this little monster to get ready then, shall I?"

"Dragon!" Hermione insisted firmly from her place in the air and Helen smiled contentedly, quite certain that the only surprise at dinner would be whether or not Hermione would tolerate the brussel sprouts she planned to make.

* * *

Three hours later and Helen had determined that, surprisingly enough, Hermione absolutely loved brussel sprouts (or at least the bacon grease they were cooked in). More surprisingly, her in-laws had brought a guest- Daniel's reclusive Aunt Cassie. Most surprisingly-

"So you see, Hermione's a witch."

"What?" Helen's voice may have cracked a bit, but the sheer absurdity of the conversation felt like a good enough excuse for any squeaking.

"She's a witch!"

Helen avoided Daniel's gaze, which positively shouted, "I told you something was going on!" and maybe also, "Are you going to faint?"

"She'll be quite a good witch, too, I expect. When I tested her magical core, it was one of the strongest I saw during my experiments. And she's only a sprog still!" Cassiopeia explained cheerfully over dessert. She'd gotten through a brief theoretical overview of magic itself during the main course before dropping the bombshell that, "Oh, by the way Helen dear, this isn't a theoretical conversation at all."

"Wait, experi- Cass!" Marius groaned, and Helen felt a brief prickle of hope that her father-in-law was about to clarify that this was a (rather bad) joke before he continued with, "You can't casually experiment on my family!"

Cassiopeia looked puzzled. "Well I certainly don't see why not- after all, brother, I've been experimenting on you for your whole life."

"CASS!"

"Alright, that's enough," Agnes muttered before raising her voice. "Marius, Cassiopeia, go take a walk. Immediately. You may return in 15 minutes."

"But, love-,"

"Don't you _love_ me, husband, get out that door right this instant!" Agnes snapped and proceeded to wag her finger at the twins until, looking thoroughly scolded, they headed out to the garden. "Daniel, get out the good wine, there's a good boy."

Other than the sound of Hermione smacking her spoon on her training cup, the dining room was silent while Daniel did a heavy pour of three glasses of red wine. Only after downing half her glass in one go did Agnes continue.

"The Black family insanity, I'm afraid- it gets the best of even Marius from time to time. This is how _I_ thought we should explain." She plopped a hastily sketched family tree on the table. "I drew this up on the way over. The yellow dots I've added mark all of the people in the family who have been magical."

"Er, isn't that everyone but you, Marius, your kids, and your mother's family?" Helen asked hesitantly.

"Yes," Daniel and Agnes sighed in unison, leading Helen to give her husband a positively betrayed look that made clear what she thought of him keeping something this large (and absurd) a secret.

"These two are squibs from pureblood families." Agnes tapped both Marius and her own father's names on the tree. "Some families with magic refuse to marry anyone without magic, because they believe that it keeps their children's magic 'pure'- these are called purebloods. A squib is someone with no magic from a magical family.."

"Why am I just now learning about any of this? Surely this is something that the whole world should know about!" Helen demanded, robotically chopping up more brussel sprouts for a wildly flailing Hermione ("Sprouts! Sprouts! Sprouts!")

"International Statute of Secrecy," Daniel explained with an apologetic half-grimace. "The non-magical governments and the magical governments all agreed it was for the best that people without magic have no idea that magic exists, except in extenuating circumstances."

"And you're quite sure that this isn't an elaborate prank?"

Daniel grinned. "I'm a dentist, darling, not a clown." If Helen could be heard muttering something that sounded quite like, "Could have fooled me you prat," then she could likely be forgiven on grounds of temporary great distress.

"Wait, I've been visiting Cassiopeia with you every year since we were married- shouldn't I have noticed magic somewhere?" Helen squinted at Agnes, who was clearly the more believable of the mother-son duo.

"Notice-me-not charms go a long way when you aren't expecting to see anything unusual to begin with. You've never once questioned who cooks, or who manages the luggage, or why half of that ridiculous house is locked off have you?"

Well, no, Helen supposed that she had not. "And you've all decided that now is a good time to tell me just because Cassiopeia realized that Hermione is a- that Hermione has- that Hermione's magical?"

"Ehm, not quite."

It was Daniel's turn to frown. "What do you mean 'not quite', Mum?"

"It would seem that your father's family has gotten themselves into a spot of trouble, and your ridiculous Aunt Cassie has convinced him that Hermione is the key to getting them out."

Helen may have chosen her daughter's name from _A Winter's Tale_ , but she had read _MacBeth_ enough times to instill a rather firm sense of the dangers of magical plotting. But before she could put her foot down, Cassiopeia and Marius were stomping back into the room and Daniel (the traitor) was saying, "What can Hermione do to help, anyways?"

"It all comes back to good PR," Cassiopeia jumped into the conversation feet first. "The family name needs re-imagined because of a handful of your cousin's actions during the war that ended just over a week ago."

"WAR?" Helen interjected in a squeak. Hermione quickly took up the chant ("War! War! War!") like some kind of tiny battle chieftess.

"Like I said, Helen dear, the war is over. No need to fuss." Cassiopeia paused for breath, suddenly remembering Pip's lecture that fewer details would likely be better when convincing her brother's family to cooperate willingly. "However, the press is having an absolute field day talking about how the Black family supported the wrong side, and a majority of the wizarding population is now under the impression that House Black is moments from being declared Fallen."

From Helen, with much confusion: "House Black?

From Daniel, with minor concern: "Fallen?"

It took Agnes a good ten minutes to explain the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black to Helen before the group could move on to Daniel's question.

"Fallen houses have no viable heir to carry on the name, and there are dozens of other archaic penalties attached to it as well." Unsurprisingly, it was Agnes whose explanation once again made the most sense. "Fallen houses have their money and investments taken over by other Houses who have some claim over them- usually something vague like a cousin's marriage in the past century- and then they're pretty methodically erased from history."

"What do you mean erased from history?"

"Other families claim any ancestors worth claiming, to put it bluntly. The Black name would be removed from the end of every portrait plaque and every history book and replaced with that of whoever had the closest blood claim on that person. Anyone that no other family wants is stripped of a surname entirely- I expect that would happen to Bellatrix, don't you Marius?" Cassiopeia said thoughtfully, considering her most frightening great-niece.

Marius nodded grimly. "It's only happened four times since the beginning of magic, but our Great Grandmother was a girl when the last House fell- recently enough for Falling to be a very real threat."

"Dad, why do you even care? You're a Granger now."

"Cassiopeia has made the unfortunately valid point that I am still a Black- and Hermione will be, too, at least in the wizarding world." Marius shot his sister a look that suggested they had used up the remainder of their afternoon meeting arguing this exact point. "If Hermione is recognized as a Black, and the Black name is restored, her prospects are- honestly, they're pretty much limitless."

Agnes snorted her opinion into her (fifth) glass of wine.

"She already has pretty endless prospects," Helen pointed out, "I mean, we're a fairly well off family, we can afford to send her to the best schools, and we're going to support whatever she wants to be when she grows up."

"Those are _muggle_ prospects though," Marius emphasized gently. "Hermione has magic- and magical Britain is rather painfully Victorian in some ways. Family is everything to most of the people who Hermione would be relying on for her job prospects- masteries, ministry positions, certainly anything international…."

"So you just want to publicly announce that Hermione is a Black and show that you can be friendly with… normal people without magic? Just one big happy family?" Daniel glanced at Helen, and she was alarmed to see he looked almost convinced. "I can't see where that hurts."

"Perfect!" Cassiopeia started, "I'll just need-,"

"CASS!" Marius groaned into the palm of his hand, "Explain the rest!"

Another well born lady might have had the grace to look sheepish at being called out, but Cassiopeia didn't have a repentant bone in her body. "Well, there may be a bit more- Pip!"

When a wide eyed, bat eared humanoid creature popped into existence by her dining room table, Helen Granger finally gave into her shock and passed out. As Daniel dropped to the ground beside her with a concerned shout, Cassiopeia sighed. "That might have been a bit much for one night."

Pip's ears flopped irritably and she released a deeply exasperated sigh. "Oh, Missy Cassiopeia thinks?"


	5. Rumor Has It

_November 9, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

It took not one, not two, but three biscuits (and a draught of whiskey in her tea) for Isla to get over the fact that Marius's grandchild was not, in fact, a poised young lady but instead a toddler- almost the same age as her grandson, in fact.

"This is probably better anyways," she said finally, though her mournful tone suggested otherwise. "Blood magic always takes better to babies."

"I'm actually fairly certain that exact fact is why my great-nephew survived a supposed killing curse," Cassiopeia mused. She herself had managed to work her way through half a dozen biscuits and a scone in the time it took Isla to recover, though Pip had been sending her some rather severe looks since the fifth biscuit. "I'd quite like to replicate-"

"Missy must stick to one big research at a time," Pip interjected firmly.

If Isla was less well bred, the noise she made would have been called a snort of laughter. As it was, she coughed lightly. "Back to the point- blood magic and your brother's line please."

"Marius was blasted off the family tapestry, but he's technically still a Black by blood. As long as he's reinstated, which will take a good bit of both blood and magic, anyone in his line with magic of their own can be added to the family tree and then considered a viable candidate for heir."

"What if Marius doesn't agree?"

"Oh, Marius will agree- he's logical enough to understand what will be best for the girl in the long run."

"Fine then- let's review the potential problems with step two. Even assuming everything goes well when you visit Marius, _Arcturus_ is the head of your house. He'd never reinstate Marius willingly," Isla pointed out. "And even if Arcturus bites the dust today, the paterfamilias position should automatically go to one of his line, not bounce to Pollux- who I presume you would be better able to control."

Cassiopeia was uncharacteristically smug as she stared at a picture of Arcturus pinned to the caseboard. "I've got a bit of forgotten family magic from Grandmother Ursula to handle him- and his son, too, if need be."

"That part will probably be easier than you think," Isla commented, "Rumor has it that Orion Black is probably insane or dead."

* * *

_November 11, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

"Cassiopeia, cousin, it is surprising to see you!" Arcturus certainly did look surprised, though Cassiopeia wasn't sure if that was because she so rarely visited or because she had walked into his bedroom unannounced.

"Hello, Arcturus. Goodness, Melania, you're still looking quite fit, aren't you?" Cassiopeia noted jovially, settling herself into a wingback chair near the window.

Melania squawked and tugged the comforter up to hide her admittedly wrinkle free bare backside. "I do hope this is something important!"

"Of course it is," Cassiopeia scoffed, "Say, I don't suppose one of your own house elves could bring me tea? No? Pip, darling, a full tray if you-,"

"Absolutely NOT happening," Arcturus said firmly from the side of the bed where he had jerked on breeches and an over robe with the speed of a much younger man. "My office will do- Melania, you can wait for me here if you'd like."

"Oh, I'm fairly sure you'll both want to participate in today's conversation," Cassiopeia shot her cousin-in-law an encouraging look. "After all, it affects the whole family."

Arcturus groaned. "The whole- don't tell me you expect me to call a family council. I'm as opposed to that as I am your uninvited appearance in my personal bed chambers, Cassiopeia."

"Nearly too late for a family council by now, isn't it Arcturus? A council should have been called eleven days ago at the latest- but no matter, I'm here to fix things now."

Arcturus's face burned a brilliant ruddy red- clearly he was not entirely unaware of why the estranged Black had reappeared. "Now you listen here-,"

"Arcturus." Melania sighed as she tied her dressing gown tightly around her, "Just call a council."

Arcturus huffed, but looked resigned as he stomped sullenly out into the hall. "Fine, fine. Cassiopeia, you still aren't taking tea in this room- might as well come to my study. I'll have to use the family tapestry to call a council anyway."

Cassiopeia smiled, pleased, and moved to follow him out of the room. Before shutting the door behind her, she peeked her head back into the room. "Really though- very impressive Melania. My cousin hardly deserves you," she winked.

Melania's slightly smug laughter followed them all the way down the hall.

* * *

"Before you call a council, there's one rumor I want to clarify with certainty," Cassiopeia said, sorting through the variety of biscuits Pip had brought to Arcturus's study with tea.

Leaning back into his desk chair, Arcturus shot her a wary glance.

"It's about your son, Orion. I'm told that he hasn't been seen in public for nearly two years. A rather large group is apparently saying that-,"

"That he's dead?"

"Well, dead or locked away after succumbing to the family madness," Cassiopeia offered the alternative casually. "Any chance you can procure him to put an end to the doubt?"

"I'm afraid at least one rumor is correct," Arcturus sighed. "Though, really, I do have to wonder how that particular tidbit reached France."

Cassiopeia smiled innocently and waited.

"Orion is dead. A possible suicide, almost immediately after the family tapestry at Grimmauld Place marked his youngest son Regulus as dead."

"Why haven't you held a funeral? We're Blacks, we love funerals."

"Walburga insisted on silence. She claimed it would be unsafe for the rest of the family if anyone found out Orion killed himself so soon after Regulus disappeared- a sign of bad faith, I suppose. I felt badly enough for my lack of interference in- well. Suffice to say, at the time I just wanted to respect his privacy, or legacy, or- just him himself. I wanted to respect him by keeping what mattered to him safe."

It was with some surprise that Cassiopeia noted how powerfully raw Arcturus's grief was under his tightly controlled tone, even some two years later. He clearly hadn't had closure, but… something wasn't right.

"Arcturus, did you actually agree with her? With Walburga, I mean."

"To a point- Orion was highly favored by the Dark Lord for his political views and wallet. At the time, I was willing to accept that the Dark Lord thinking that Orion was merely stepping out of the public light rather than dead could protect the family that remained." Arcturus scowled heavily. "Melania didn't agree. She thinks Pollux's harpy of a daughter poisoned him herself and didn't want us or the Dark Lord to look too closely."

The two cousins sat in silence, contemplating the heavy weight of that admission.

"I could see it," Arcturus admitted.

"Pollux was always so uncomfortable with bloodshed- it must be the Crabbe in her," Cassiopeia sniffed disdainfully. "But Arcturus, you're head of the family, and it's been two years since your son died or was killed. Surely, you've done _something_ in that time."

"Add inaction to the list of grievances you no doubt are calling the family council to discuss." Arcturus's tone left no room for argument, and Cassiopeia didn't see a need to poke a sleeping bear (or to tickle a sleeping dragon, as the Hogwarts motto recommended against).

Instead of pressing the issue, she shoved the plate of tea time snacks across the table. "Oh do have a biscuit, cousin, sugar can only improve your disposition. You don't want to wrinkle when your wife still looks like _that_ , do you?"


	6. The Family Council

_November 9, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

"That part will probably be easier than you think," Isla commented, "Rumor has it that Orion Black is probably insane or dead."

"Morgana! Another scandal? You're having one over on me aren't you?"

"I'd bet at least twenty galleons he's been locked up somewhere," Isla continued as if Cassiopeia had not just sprung from her chair and began pacing madly in front of the fireplace. "After all, you Blacks do love a good funeral."

"Pip will take Missy's friend up on her bet for Missy," the house elf offered quickly. "If Missy is approving, that is."

"That'd be fine Pip." Cassiopeia waved a hand unconcernedly and Pip (who harbored exactly zero desire to be a self respecting house elf) grinned fiercely. "Apparently I really should have replaced the family tapestry at Chateau Black after we decided the old one was too flammable."

"Too... flammable?"

"Too flammable to be near my labs- much like this Orion scandal is too flammable to be allowed near my PR campaign."

"No need for dramatics, darling, we'll simply have to spin this to your advantage as well. What's the worst that could happen?"

Cassiopeia rapped her wand on her palm thoughtfully. "Worst case, I ask Arcturus to summon a family council- Grandmother Ursula's spell requires it- and Orion isn't even called because he's dead. No one in the family knows the truth, everyone thinks the council is a trap, and the whole family bolts or starts cursing each other before I can explain our cause and demand a magical majority vote."

"That seems-,"

"Not done. Second worst case scenario is Orion appears when the council is called but is out of his mind to the point it takes days to deal with him, get the family in order, and accomplish my plan."

("Missy should be knowing that running late is being much worse than being dead," Pip muttered under her breath.)

"Are you quite done?" Isla asked, "Because I have a singular solution to cover bolting, and I'm sure it will help reduce the number of days of arguing you'll encounter as well."

"Do you now?"

Isla looked at her friend with the same professional (read: morbid) grin she'd worn when waiting for an unwanted intruder to fall from her fireplace. "Have I ever let you down yet?"

* * *

_November 11, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

As a child, Cassiopeia was forced to spend hours in the front parlor studying Grimmauld Place's family tapestry. It was incredibly old- the oldest of all the secondary Black family tapestries- and had faded into deep, muted colors over the centuries. It wasn't ugly, per say, but it was quite unimpressive compared to some of the other family tapestries in existence. Cassiopeia had very distinct memories of being scolded by her mother for asking if they could switch out their tapestry for a more modern one from the Gringott's vault.

The family tapestry in the original Black Manor, however- this particular work of art she had never been able to find fault with. It was more carving than cloth, built directly into the wall of the study traditionally reserved for the Paterfamilias or Materfamilias (depending on the decade) of the family. A thick silver tree trunk sprouted from the floor in one corner of the room, and from it large branches of the same material sprouted high and low across the wall. Portraits of individual family members- frozen in time at their age of majority- dangled like fat apples from the branches, picked out in jewel toned thread and lined in silk according to their status: silver for those passed, green for those living, and black for those disowned. Names and dates were written in tiny print with dramatic flourish- supposedly the handwriting of some long ago recorded Materfamilias, charmed into permanent existence.

"I didn't realize you required the tapestry to call a family council," Cassiopeia commented, watching with bright eyes as Arcturus laid his palm flat against the crest carved into the silver tree trunk. "Would any Black tapestry do the same?"

"In theory, so long as enough magic was channeled into it. But this is the true tapestry- it has more family magic stored in it than all our Gringott's vaults combined. That makes it much more effective." As the crest began to glow with a faint white light, Arcturus pulled his hand back and used his wand to make a slice across his palm. "Just needs a bit of blood to cooperate."

A bit seemed like an understatement- Arcturus's blood was being pulled from the fresh wound to pool in every indent of the Black family crest. The longer he bled freely, the more blinding the glow became. "Appellant eos. Libera mea simul."

Instantly an odd sort of buzzing tension filled the room- thick, old magic that made the air nearly impossible to breathe. A pregnant pause, and-

A thunderous _boom!_ shook the room as the light abruptly rushed into the trunk of the tree, through each limb, and finally came to rest on the names of the living Black family members.

Arcturus stepped back to watch, satisfied, as the last of his blood was absorbed into the tree and the glow slowly began to disappear. A wordless tap of his wand against his palm left the skin unmarred. "I've given them an hour warning before they're dropped into the dining room in the hope of showing a little more respect for their privacy than _some_ of us might consider."

Cassiopeia smiled politely and sipped her tea. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, cousin."

"I'm sure," Arcturus said drily. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find my wife. To be abundantly clear, you are NOT welcome to follow."

* * *

The family gatherings of Cassiopeia's childhood had always boasted a minimum of thirty people- aunts, uncles, cousins, beaus… There was always plenty of room in the large dining room of Black Manor for another relative to visit.

Now, the smaller dining room felt much more appropriate. Cassiopeia watched from near the head of the table as they arrived, one by one.

First came Pollux. Her older brother was remarkably dissimilar to her younger- Pollux was tall and almost gangly despite his age, perpetually awkward and predisposed towards the decision resulting in the least stress. He kissed her cheek and settled in quietly beside her.

Next was Callidora Longbottom nee Black- sans husband, of course. Callidora had inherited the wide features of the Yaxley family from her mother, but her sharp eyes were pure Black as they glanced from one face to the next at the table. She took a place as far from Arcturus as possible- the two had never gotten along- after nodding politely.

Cygnus, Alphard, and Walburga arrived in the same crack of magic, the three siblings scowling fiercely at one another from the second they'd fully appeared- Cassiopeia could see Pollux cringe without even looking his way. Alphard, dressed in rather shocking American robes and wearing his wand in a holster, waved cheerfully to his father before dropping into a seat next to Callidora. Walburga and Cygnus, both polished and primped within an inch of their life, postured at one another briefly before Cygnus took a seat by Melanie and Walburga by Pollux.

Lucretia Prewett nee Black appeared of her own accord rather than by magical summoning, dropping a careful kiss on each of her parents' cheeks before sitting at the far end of the table. She was a carbon copy of her mother, down to the stylish cut of robes she'd chosen for the meeting and the long blonde hair down her back.

Narcissa Malfoy nee Black arrived last, the only one of her generation to be represented. She looked, Cassiopeia thought, an awful lot like Dorea would have if Dorea had looked like she'd had a stick up her-

There were four spluttering cracks of magic that apparently signaled a failed delivery, and then, finally, the magical tension in the room eased.

"Four broken calls then- who among us is missing?" Arcturus asked formally.

From Melanie: "Sirius Black, imprisoned in Azkaban. Bellatrix Black, imprisoned in Azkaban."

From Narcissa: "Draco Malfoy, warded in at Malfoy Manor."

From Cassiopeia: "Harry Potter, location unknown."

"With this accounting, the Black family comes to council," Arcturus intoned, then dropped his formal attitude in favor of a hard glance in Cassiopeia's direction. "If you'd be so kind as to tell us why we're here?"

"Arcturus," Melanie's voice was light but chiding. She glanced around the table, every bit a high society hostess. "Can I interest any of you in a drink? Dinner isn't scheduled for another hour."

"Probably poisoned," Callidora muttered from her end of the table.

"You'd have you ask Walburga," Melanie shot back, and Walburga choked. "Now, drinks?"

"I think a spot of tea would do us all good," Cassiopeia offered, "Unless we're jumping straight to wine?"

"Is wine strong enough for a family reunion?" Alphard asked lightly, avoiding his siblings' disapproving glares with practiced nonchalance.

"Spot on," Cassiopeia agreed, "Unfortunately, I need you sober. A good vintage wine for around the table, please."

Melanie swept to a side door to murmur instructions to the house elves, returning with three bottles of wine and glasses on a silver tray.

"One last thing to cover before my presentation," Cassiopeia said cheerfully after taking a large gulp of the red (which, she noted, was fairly average instead of a good vintage). "Pip!"

Nothing happened. Cassiopeia frowned, glancing around the room as if concerned she'd missed something glaringly obvious (like a house elf).

"Pip!"

Another long moment, and then, right as Cassiopeia opened her mouth to call for a third time, the frantic house elf appeared with a large piece of obsidian in her hands. "Missy Cassiopeia's friend is making Pip be running _late_!" Her voice, already high pitched, was positively screechy with anxiety.

"Sounds like Isla," Cassiopeia said lightly, taking the rock and tapping it twice with her wand before setting it on the dining room table. The cool, tingling sensation that always accompanied old blood magic slowly began to permeate the room. "Breathe, Pip, that's an order. Now, before we begin, some general rules for the meeting. Does anyone know what this is?"

From Arcturus, grumbling: "Something ridiculous, I assume."

From Narcissa, who was much more composed than anyone else at the table: "I believe it is a ward stone, Aunt."

Cassiopeia nodded approvingly at Narcissa, ignoring her cousin completely. "Precisely. It is, in fact, a ward stone created by my dear friend, the renown warder Isla Calderon, and it has been enchanted to ensure three things. Firstly, no one will be able to move further than 5 yards away from me until I end this enchantment. Pip assures me this is just enough so that if I stand in the doorway, you can make it to a loo. If you try to leave without my permission, the ward's second purpose will go into effect and you will be killed."

An immediate uproar began all the way around the table, punctuated by choice exclamations such as, "How dare you!" and "Honestly Cassiopeia this is going too far!" and "What if we kill you first?"

"Wonderful question, Cygnus, I applaud your desire to do further research. If you kill me, or otherwise incapacitate me, there will be no effect on the ward. You'll all remain stuck within 5 yards of me- or at least my corpse- until you die, one way or the other."

The immediate silence was telling- the Blacks were, albeit unwillingly, quite impressed.

"Thirdly, the ward stone will keep you honest. I sent Pip back to Isla to have that lovely feature added just this afternoon. I'd compare it to Veritaserum, but you won't have the excuse of a pleasant mind fog, or babbling, or selectively answering my questions without me knowing. I've no idea how Isla would have ensured this, so we'll be embarking on this particular experiment together."

"Honest? This is a family council, do you really expect anyone to lie?" Pollux, bless his non-confrontational heart, sounded genuinely surprised.

"Yes," Callidora and Arcturus said in unison, glaring pointedly at one another.

"Yes," agreed Cassiopeia, "Though my belief that someone might lie is less about these two's ongoing feud and more about the elephant in the room- or, more accurately, the elephant missing from the room."

Melania's face lit up with vindictive hope for a brief moment before settling back into a polite smile.

"We've already listed those missing from council," Walburga said quickly, her voice high, "Is that what you are referring to?"

"Oh, most definitely not."

Narcissa's eyes grew wide with understanding, and she nudged Lucretia under the table with one dainty foot.

"Actually, I believe the truth compelling wards are almost entirely for your benefit, Walburga. It's a tad uncouth, I suppose, but before I begin my explanation of how we will be keeping this family from falling, we will all be acting as judge and jury in a trial for the murder of Orion Black."


	7. Judge & Jury

* * *

_November 9, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

Isla looked at her friend with the same professional (read: morbid) grin she'd worn while waiting for an unwanted intruder to fall from her fireplace. "Have I ever let you down yet?"

Cassiopeia frowned thoughtfully, "Not that I've noted."

Rolling her eyes, Isla abruptly stood and shook invisible creases out of her robes. "My stomach is absolutely sloshy from too much tea. Tolly! Clear this away for now, Miss Black and I will take a turn around the gardens. Now Cassiopeia, I do hope you understand what you'll have to do if Orion does appear insane."

"Of course," Cassiopeia said lightly as she followed Isla out of the parlor and through the winding halls of Calderon Castle.

"And if he doesn't appear at all?"

A pause, and then an unconcerned shrug. "That depends on what my research turns up I suppose."

* * *

_November 11, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

"Ok, I admit that was a tad dramatic. You'll have to excuse me, I've been reading murder mysteries before bed of late- I find them refreshingly calming compared to seeing my family's faces in the papers." Cassiopeia smiled, oblivious to the brittle tension in the room. "However, we _are_ all 'all ears' as they say, so Walburga- I _compel_ you to tell us exactly where Orion Black has been."

"In the family crypt!" Walburga half shouted, and clapped a horrified hand over her mouth. "I mean- no- that's not-,"

"Oh good," Cassiopeia murmured to Pip out of the corner of her mouth, "I was afraid trying to lie might result in violent torture- how admirably restrained of Isla to just force the truth out instead."

"Orion's dead? I thought he went crazy?" Callidora whispered loudly to Alphard, who pursed his lips tightly.

"Have some respect! That's my son," Arcturus growled down the table at the pair.

"Next question! Walburga, I _compel_ you to tell me how Orion died."

The whole table collectively held their breaths, staring at Walburga.

Melania's wand appeared on the table.

"He drank the poison I put in his brandy!" Walburga couldn't even struggle against the truth being dragged out of her, Cassiopeia noted with scientific interest. Whatever Isla had added to the ward stone was powerful indeed.

A second realization occurred to Cassiopeia very quickly then: yes, everyone was stuck within 5 yards of her and yes, everyone was forced to be honest when she compelled them, but nothing on the ward stone prevented any violence or aggression between family members.

Melania's wand moved abruptly from the table to her hand, crashing down in a shower of black and gold sparks. " _Fulguro_!" Walburga immediately toppled out of her chair as a localized bolt of lightning hit her square in the chest.

From Cygnus: "Walburga!"

From Arcturus: "Shock her again!"

"No dark curses at the table mama!" Lucinda wailed, scrambling to grab her mother's arm before she could follow Arcturus's instructions.

It was Callidora's level head that saved them all from a dining room duel- sort of. "Enough! Before we allow a punishment for marticide, there are more questions to be answered."

"I'd quite like to know why she did it," Alphard agreed. "And I'd also like to point out that her father is right here, so maybe we could hold off on the whole torture bit."

"But-," Melanie said, nostrils flared as she stood over Walburga.

"No."

"But-," tried Arcturus, looking around the room for any support at all.

"No papa!"

Grudgingly, the couple allowed Cygnus to haul his sister back into her seat. She looked slightly dazed from the shock, but more angry than guilty.

"Alright then. Let's do your question next Alphard. Walburga, I _compel_ you to tell me why you murdered Orion." Cassiopeia demanded calmly.

"He wanted to reinstate Sirius on the family tree after Regulus died! He blamed the Dark Lord! I couldn't let him stain our family, and he wouldn't be reasoned with!" Walburga slammed her mouth shut angrily the second the compulsion wore off, but a mean little grin appeared a second later. "I should have let him. Apparently Sirius wasn't the failure I thought."

"About that," Cassiopeia interjected quickly. Opportunity was apparently knocking for another to-do list item. "Why do you believe Sirius would have done… that?"

Walburga just glared.

"Oh for the love of- Walburga I _compel_ you to tell me."

"I doubt he actually did it! That spineless blood traitor wasn't good enough for the Dark Lord!"

And wasn't that interesting? Cassiopeia's mind whirled rapidly. Isla would have to know immediately of course- they had yet to devise a solid strategy for dealing with the Sirius Black Situation in the papers- but Walburga's outburst offered a new opportunity as well.

"How did you not know?" The question, posed by Narcissa, surprised everyone including herself. She frowned down the table towards Arcturus and Melanie. "How could you not _know_? How could you keep this secret for her?"

Arcturus turned the same ruddy color he had earlier in the day when Cassiopeia accused him of inaction, but aside from some ugly spluttering no sound passed his lips.

"I knew," Melania said finally, her words pure venom and her eyes still locked on Walburga. "When this she-devil told us our son killed himself over Regulus's death, I almost believed her. After all, I wanted to die when my child was lost to me as well. By the time I realized what I'd let be covered up under my nose… we'd helped bury the evidence ourselves. It was too late."

"You could have summoned the family council and sought justice immediately- why wait?"

Melania looked at Arcturus with fire in her eyes, but her husband was watching Pollux with pity and grief in his own gaze. "I didn't think Pollux could handle it."

Indeed, based on his ghostly pale expression and violent shaking, Pollux both couldn't and wasn't handling it at all. "I-I-I," he tried, and then stopped, unable to get anything out.

Cassiopeia settled one hand on her brother's head. "Enough, Pollux, there's been too much drama already for you to go dying of a broken heart. Besides, Walburga's an adult- her sins are on her own head, not yours. Well, and maybe her mother's. I really never was a fan of Irma."

"Excuse you, Aunt!" Cygnus protested, and looked quite like he would have liked to say more but Cassiopeia held up her wand threateningly.

"Next question then," Cassiopeia said, and Lucretia tentatively raised her own hand.

"I want to know if she ever loved him," Orion's only sister said quietly, and there was a sharp inhalation of breath around the table. The Black family did not _lower_ itself to speak of love so casually- marriage was a partnership tendered by affection and trust, and any mention of love was kept to the privacy of individual homes.

Cassiopeia, however, had studied some basic psychology for fun and thought she could understand Lucretia's need for an answer. "Walburga, I _compel_ you to tell us if you loved Orion."

Walburga's face twisted and her cheeks burnt bright red bright red. Her tongue flicked in and out from between her lips, and her eyes bulged out comically.

"Merlin! She's choking to death! Is she fighting it?"

"No," Cassiopeia said with a sliver of surprise, "I believe she doesn't know the answer- very well then. Walburga, I compel you to tell us what you thought of Orion."

Her body immediately relaxed. "He was my key to controlling the family! I wanted control of the Black family name!"

Alphard snorted. "Leave it to Walburga- Luc, if it's any consolation she does at least love control, so maybe that's loving him by default?"

"Certainly so," Lucretia dead panned, and Cassiopeia noted that she looked even more like her mother with her eyes sparking and her wand aimed threateningly at her cousin.

"Now, does anyone have any more questions for Walburga?"

Crickets.

"Perfect, then all who find her guilty and deserving of some form of retribution?"

Melania's and Arcturus's hands shot into the air immediately, Arcturus's accompanied by an apologetic glance towards his closest cousin. Lucinda's was only a moment behind her parents.

Callidora and Alphard shared a placid look as they voted yes, followed by a wary looking Narcissa and, finally, an extremely hesitant Cygnus. Only Pollux remained. He shut his eyes tightly, his shaking intensifying as he dropped his head.

"I'm so sorry," Pollux murmured, to whom no one knew, and then he raised his hand in agreement that his daughter would face the wrath of House Black.

Cassiopeia nodded. "Walburga, you have been found guilty by your own house. Do you have anything left to say for yourself?"

Walburga sneered, crossing her arms. "Blood traitors! All of you- I did what needed to be done! Orion was weak, and our family had to show strength for the Dark Lord! I gave him a merciful death before he could embarrass us all! Condemning me for my strength is another sign this house has fallen!"

There was a gasp around the table, accompanied by Arcturus's shreaky, "FALLEN?"

"Do wait for that item to come up on the agenda, please," Cassiopeia frowned heavily, "Walburga, that was a perfectly hideous defense of yourself. I would like to say I am sorry for this, but I am most assuredly not."

"Sorry for what, you-," but Walburga hadn't gotten the words out of her mouth before she was falling out of her chair, temporarily petrified.

"I know that some of you would quite like to kill- or at least violently maim- her, but that doesn't quite work with my plans," Cassiopeia said apologetically. "We've got quite a bit more to do here."

"And you said we wouldn't need whiskey," Alphard muttered, watching his aunt with surprised eyes.

"No, I said you needed to be sober. Pip! Please bring me-,"

"Mistress Cassiopeia must be waiting for after dinner," Pip squeaked before the direct order could be completely given. "It was already on the schedule."


	8. Materfamilias

_November 9, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

"Why are you so certain your grandmother's spell will convince them to cooperate?" Isla asked as she fixed a wide brimmed hat on her head to shield from the sun.

"Once they agree to the vote, they won't have a choice in listening to me if the magic takes hold. Do you have a spare parasol by chance, or- oh, thank you Pip." Cassiopeia accepted the matching burgundy accessory from her house elf before striding out the sun room door behind Isla.

"Are you going to be able to control Arcturus directly, then?" Isla knew full well that there wasn't a chance of Cassiopeia explaining the intricacies of House Black's family magic, but she couldn't resist prying a bit further.

Cassiopeia smiled. "Certainly not. I'm going to take away his favorite thing- his title."

* * *

_November 11, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

The Head House Elf stepped into the small dining room, fingers raised formally. When he snapped, full place settings appeared on the table, followed by dishes of roast pheasant, potatoes, corn, and salads. "Dinner is being served, Mistress and Master. Can Wally be providing anything else?"

"That'll do," Arcturus waved his house elf away, "Are we taking a break from your blabber- I mean, from your agenda- to eat, or are we heathens now?"

"Do please go ahead and serve yourselves." Cassiopeia said begrudgingly, grabbing for a dinner roll with ill grace. Alphard snorted across the table.

Cassiopeia scarfed down two rolls and a dollop of cranberry slaw before the pheasant had made it round the table. She shoved her plate away from her, reached for her glass of wine with one hand, and stood abruptly.

"Now, as I was saying… Pip! Bring me the case board."

The unpetrified portion of the family jumped in their seats when Cassiopeia's house elf immediately popped back into existence with a large rolling bulletin board in tow. It was covered in newspaper clippings with red and blue string thumb tacked across in all directions to correlate different articles.

"What in Merlin's name is that?" Cygnus demanded. "A child's art project?"

"Wonderful question, Cygnus, you're quite right that even a child could figure this out," Cassiopeia sent a sharp toothed smile towards her nephew and he stood down immediately. "This is what is called a case board, and it's been endlessly useful for my projects over the years. Today, we'll be using it for our second and third agenda items."

From Callidora: "And those are?"

From Melania: "I do hope you remember basic dinner table etiquette, Cassiopeia."

Waving her hand in an airy dismissal, Cassiopeia nodded. "You can eat while you listen."

Using her wand as a pointer, Cassiopeia traced the path of the red strings across the board, reading newspaper headings from as much as fifteen years prior such as " _Terror on the horizon?_ ", " _Rumors of a new Dark Lord_ ", and " _Mysterious Disappearances Increasing Daily_ ".

"Can anyone tell me what these have in common?"

"They're all from shortly before the Dark Lord openly came to power," Lucretia offered.

"Anything less obvious? No one? Well, I'll tell you then. All of these articles hint that the Black family either supported or turned a blind eye. Listen to this: 'When asked for comment, Department Head Cygnus Black stated that he was sure this was all a dramatic misunderstanding' and then there is this one: 'Orion Black has been overheard stating that he believes that the self proclaimed Lord Voldemort is an unsurprising response to the long theorized opinion that muggleborns have ruined Wizarding culture.'"

"The Blood War hadn't yet begun- how could such outdated sentiments still matter? Besides, Orion at least is no longer with us- what does it matter?" Narcissa asked skeptically, "The Blacks have always been asked their political opinions, this was nothing new."

"No, but it was the beginning of the family supporting the losing side, and as such the beginning of the PR nightmare we find ourselves in today." Cassiopeia insisted, "To fully understand where we are now, we must understand precisely how we got ourselves into this humiliating conundrum."

While the rest of the family supped, Cassiopeia led them through dozens of articles, explaining how each tied to the family (and sending several pointed glares when someone interrupted to ask someone else to pass a side dish or the wine). She flipped her board no less than 5 times, displaying totally new articles, notes, and string paths with each rotation, as she went through the Black family's public identity throughout the Blood War in excruciating detail. Finally… "And because of this, a very large group of people believe the House of Black is moments from being declared Fallen."

Arcturus spit wine across the table.

"Why would you even say that?" he thundered, waving a forkful of pheasant threateningly in his cousin's direction. "I have heard no such thing!"

"How would you have?" Cassiopeia demanded, "I don't know when the last time you left this Manor was, Arcturus, but if not for your owls then the public would likely think _you_ had been murdered or gone mad too!"

"Does that feel slightly hypocritical, or is it just me?" Alphard whispered.

"I have served this family through the war as I have seen fit!" Arcturus was on his feet now, his face ruddy once more. "You cannot sit at my table and passively accuse me-,"

"Oh come now, Arcturus, don't be ridiculous- this is an overt accusation of fault, not a passive one." Cassiopeia smiled pleasantly, eyes bright. "And I suppose now is as good of a time as any to move onto agenda item three."

Cassiopeia reached out and gave the case board a violent spin. Instead of more news articles and notes, when it stopped it instead displayed a medium sized portrait, a quick sketch of the family tree in Arcturus's study, and a long section of whiteboard.

"Everyone, please say hello to Grandmother Ursula."

The woman in the portrait was in her late middle age, with silver streaked auburn curls pinned atop her head and robes reminiscent of the late 1800's. She jolted awake sharply, as if the violent spinning had interrupted an incredibly long nap, and blinked out at her descendants in a daze. "What's this then?"

"How on earth do you have that?" Pollux asked with no small amount of shock, "I thought there were no animated portraits of Grandmother Ursula left!"

"Mm, well, I didn't give this one up to her living self when she decided on that ill-advised funeral pyre," Cassiopeia shrugged, "Portrait-Grandmother asked me not to, after all."

"Who wants to be set on fire? Honestly, the Black madness has its moments," the woman in the portrait, Ursula, huffed a dramatic sigh. "What did you awaken me for, Cassiopeia?"

"Grandmother, you once taught me of a certain family magic that was intended to keep House Black from ruin- I would like you to bear witness and provide additional explanation as needed once I've told the rest of the family about it."

Ursula's eyes widened. "The materfamilias spell? Morgana, child, has it come to that?"

From Alphard, surprised: "Did she say materfamilias spell?"

From Narcissa, disturbed: "Did they say funeral pyre?"

From Arcturus, who once more exploded from his seat to wave his fork threateningly: "There is no such thing!"

"Oh but there is!" Cassiopeia said cheerfully, "So sorry you were kept unaware- family tradition and all."

"I am the Paterfamilias of this family-,"

"For now."

"-and I will not have you deluding the minds of-,"

"Sit down please Arcturus," Melania said, and if she sounded incredibly impatient then she could likely be excused due to emotional strain over the past several hours. "Let her finish so we can end this meeting sometime before the next century."

"Thank you, Melania," Cassiopeia nodded appreciatively in her cousin-in-law's direction. "As I was saying, yes, there is such a spell. The materfamilias spell was created centuries ago by House Black in order to prevent an unstable paterfamilias, the end of our line, or the house falling. It has a specific set of rules regarding being passed down in the family- namely, it is only intended to be taught to born Black women."

"Then how would Great Grandmother Ursula know about it?" Cygnus demanded.

"I was taught by Elladora." Ursula supplied cheerfully, "There were no secrets between us during our lives."

All four of Urusla's grandchildren present cringed- not a single family member had been spared walking in on Ursula and Elladora's risque old magic rituals. It wasn't a stretch to believe that in addition to no clothes or sense of propriety between them, there had been no secrets.

"Why only born Black women?" Melania asked, looking a bit affronted, "Shouldn't the matriarch of the family have access as well?"

"Sorry, darling," Cassiopeia looked truly apologetic, "You make a wonderful matriarch, but the materfamilias _must_ have Black blood if she is to be able to fulfill her duty."

Lucretia furrowed her brow, glancing back and forth between her mother and Cassiopeia. "Pardon, but what's the difference between matriarch and materfamilias?"

"It's a fine line," Cassiopeia admitted, "But in context of the old families, the Paterfamilias or Materfamilias is a House's most direct connection to magic. The Paterfamilias and Materfamilias's special connection to the old magic and the family magic allows them additional strength intended to protect the family. It can be used to locate family members, for punishment and praise, for protection, for spell creation, and more. Because of these responsibilities, and I suppose because of how they affect the rest of the family, only a born or blood adopted family member can assume the positions. Now, it's important to note that my research shows that most of the old families have forgotten how to activate their Pater- or Materfamilias magic, meaning that many families are unable to-,"

Lucretia coughed delicately to interrupt the rapidly wandering chain of thought. "And the patriarch/matriarch positions?"

"Ah, yes. The patriarch and matriarch of the family are viewed as the leaders- tribal chiefs, so to speak. However, they have no connection to the family magic, no immediate power over those whom they are pledged to represent and protect. More of a public figure at the end of the day- the spouse of the Paterfamilias and Materfamilias always hold those titles. Really, Melania, I am quite sorry to put it as plainly as that, but it's an important distinction."

Melania looked resigned, but Arcturus looked increasingly wary. "I did not realize how much you had been taught, cousin."

"Proper research," Cassiopeia said sternly, "It is the most important thing in the world."

Ursula snorted from her portrait. "It helped that she was the prime candidate to pass down the materfamilias spell."

"What do you mean?" Narcissa asked, clearly wondering what quality her Great Aunt had which she, who had not been given the knowledge, did not.

"Cassiopeia's twin brother was a Squib, so she has never been allowed to pledge herself to another family in marriage- leaving House Black always her first priority." Ursula tapped her nose thoughtfully, "Though I can't say I expected you to be the first to need the spell in 200 years- I had more faith in Arcturus's upbringing than that."

"Thank you!" Arcturus beamed at his grandmother.

Ignoring her husband, Melania hummed thoughtfully. "So what exactly does this spell do then?"

"Wonderful question. The spell takes the current family head and the proposed candidate into account, and uses majority consent of the living family as well as a final judgement by magic to remove the paterfamilias from position and re-channel control of the family and it's magic to a materfamilias."

From Callidora: "Judgement by magic?"

From Cygnus: "Control?"

Arcturus smacked his palm down on the table triumphantly. "Ha! You need consent! No one at this table would choose a cursed spinster without a tactful bone in her body to lead the family."

"I don't see why not," Cassiopeia said lightly, and tapped her wand lightly against the strip of white board on her case board. A chart immediately appeared, T-shaped and with Arcturus's name on one side and hers on the other. "I may have cursed and tactless on my con list, but _you_ , dear cousin, have the following on yours: ineffective, inaction during crisis, complacency through crimes against the family, inattention to your duty, and total lack of response to negative rumors that could ruin us all."

The words appeared in bright red marker as she spoke.

"I suppose to be fair, we can add partially reclusive to both our lists- though I am renown for using my solitude to create solutions and further my research, and you are known for using yours to… funny, I can't think of anything you're known for cousin."

"Cassiopeia, don't you think that's too harsh?" Pollux forced himself to intervene, anxiously ripping apart a dinner roll.

"Honestly, brother, I'm only being factual- but I suppose I can attempt to be a tad more considerate for your sake." Cassiopeia took a deep breath, "Arcturus, you have done what has perhaps been your best to lead this family, but we are in crisis and you cannot be counted on to take the action needed for House Black to survive. You are tired, and today alone you have had to face a truth that I can only imagine you and Melania will never heal from. I am here to offer an alternative to Falling."

Arcturus looked from Cassiopeia to Walburga's petrified form in silence for a long moment. "I will not hand over my position as Paterfamilias without a fight. You've not lived through the war we have, Cassiopeia, and I would be remiss to give up my duty to you willingly."

Cassiopeia smiled. "That's fine- it isn't your consent I need, it's theirs."

She waved one hand out to encompass the rest of the table. Eight sets of incredulous eyes stared back.

"You do mean us, right?" Callidora asked hesitantly.

"Certainly. And I won't take your agreement for nothing. In addition to my plan to restore the reputation of House Black, I'm sure that there is something I can offer you each individually."

"You already had my vote- anything to annoy Arcturus," Callidora cackled as Arcturus bristled from his end of the table, "But there are _two_ things I want from you. Firstly, I want Bellatrix disowned by the whole family- blast her off the tree for her crimes."

"My daughter has every right to claim the name Black!" Cygnus threw himself out of his chair, wand pointed at Callidora.

"Your daughter is rotting in _Azkaban_ for her heinous choices!"

"She fought in a _war_! You cannot judge her for actions she was ordered to take during a war!"

"She betrayed this family and her upbringing when she attacked the Longbottoms! Muggle baiting, protesting mudbloods- that I'm used to seeing from members our House! But I can not and will not forgive the torture of other members of the Sacred 28!" Callidora's own wand was sparking in her hand, but she stayed in her seat.

"As I said woman, it was a WAR! Bellatrix-,"

"Bellatrix shamed the House of Black by being caught after swearing fealty to a Dark Lord in public," Cassiopeia interrupted calmly. "Cygnus, Callidora is well within her rights to demand the girl be disowned. We are a traditionally Slytherin family- are wit and cunning not rewarded and lack thereof punished within our circle?"

"You won't gain my vote if you disown her," Cygnus insisted, "I won't let Narcissa give you her vote either."

"Narcissa is an adult now, father," Narcissa cut in icily. "Bella has… Bella has made some unfortunate choices. I would prefer to not see her disowned, but I must think of my son's future before I cast my vote."

"I'd be willing to accept Bellatrix publicly being declared mad and having every trace of the family magic taken from her, provided you accept my second request," Callidora offered, eyeing Cassiopeia shrewdly.

"And your second request is?"

"I'd like you to agree to personally undertake the care of Frank and Alice Longbottom, and for the Black family to sponsor their ongoing care and possible recovery."

"WHAT?!" Cygnus bellowed, "They're the reason that my daughter is-,"

"Cygnus, enough! Bellatrix is the reason Bellatrix is in Azkaban!" Alphard cut in, "Think of the rest of your family for once!"

"Frank is my godchild,"Callidora ignored the interruption in favor of maintaining eye contact with her cousin. "He has a toddler, one who deserves better than two addled parents. You'd have my full support in the materfamilias matter, and anything you need from me going forward as well."

"I'd be willing to take them on, though I can't promise any results without initial research, and they won't have my full attention until the current publicity nightmare is at least partially alleviated." Cassiopeia warned, carefully hiding her pleasure under a neutral expression. She'd already planned to look into Frank and Alice's condition for positive press, and Callidora had unwittingly played right into her hand.

"Aunt, if you are declared Materfamilias, how does the Black line continue? You have no children of your own, and I think we should all be prepared for all consequences of our votes." Narcissa smiled coolly at Cassiopeia, taking a sip of wine that didn't quite hide trembling lips.

"A Black family Materfamilias must either marry a wizard who takes on the Black name and have children or select their heir. Marrying and children aren't options for me, but I have already selected my heir. She's going to be able to blend our tradition with our future survival in a way none of us here can."

"Someone who wasn't summoned by the call to the family council?" Lucretia asked, surprised, "Why, who on earth could you mean?"

"She must mean blood adoption," Melania sighed, "Which means it must be a child she's selected. How old is she, that you've decided her future for her Cassiopeia?"

"Pip?"

"Little missy is being two."

"I see. Well then- If you merely declare Bella insane, and if you grant my request, I will give you my vote," Narcissa said, ignoring her father's horrified expression. "Your heir is the same age as my son, or close. I'd like them to take lessons together and be encouraged to be the closest of friends."

Cassiopeia kept her expression neutral as she nodded, but heaved a mighty mental sigh. She hadn't spoken to Helen since the younger woman had fainted the night prior, but Cassiopeia imagined she might not appreciate her child's education being taken out of her hands.

Unless...

A new idea began to form, but was quickly interrupted by Alphard. "I know what I'd like as well, if we're just shouting things out now."

"And that is?"

"I've spoken of this with Arcturus already, but he felt the point was moot. However, I want Sirius Black's involvement in the war to be investigated. James Potter was his closest friend, and he was half raised by Aunt Dorea after Walburga's… well. I don't think it's possible that he would have…. Done what they say he did."

"Alphard, I've told you, we cannot fight the Wizengamot if he's been tried and sentenced- be grateful he didn't get the kiss," Arcturus said with the air of a man who has repeated himself several dozen times.

"Actually, I don't think he's had a trial- not one that was publicized, anyhow," Lucretia murmured thoughtfully. "I barely knew the boy, and I have little opinion on his character. But I will say it seems both un-Black and un-Gryffindor to betray a close friend and cousin."

" _Precisely_ ," Cassiopeia agreed, "Alphard, I am more than happy to take this request up- especially after Walburga's statement earlier. Though, Arcturus…,"

"Now what, cousin?"

"The family tree still lists Sirius as being Orion's heir, despite Walburga's screeching. Did you reinstate him at some point?"

Alphard and Lucretia both burst out laughing. "Oh, Aunt, you didn't know?"

"Walburga thought she could blast people off the family tree on her own," Arcturus said drily. "I do believe she tried to disinherit half of us present at some point. The Grimmauld Place tapestry looks like an ashtray."

"It was already so dingy, too. Really, Pollux, the amount of Crabbe in that child!" Cassiopeia sniffed as Pollux sunk down in his seat. "By the way brother, you'll be giving me your vote, won't you?"

"Uhm, yes?"

"Pollux!"

"Uhm, no?"

"Brother!"

"Uhm, uhm, can I abstain?"

"No!" Cassiopeia and Arcturus snapped in unison.

"Don't worry, Pollux dear," Melania leaned across the table to place one delicate hand over Pollux's. "I'll make the decision for us both, and handle the fall out on your behalf as well. Arcturus-,"

The current paterfamilias beamed at his wife-

"- I'm afraid my vote goes to Cassiopeia. She's the one who actively transpired to avenge our son and I'm quite afraid that means that we owe her a debt."

Arcturus's smile fell, and his eye twitched.

"However, Cassiopeia, I have lived in this house since I was 17 years old. I'd like to retain Black Manor and my social privileges should you be selected as Materfamilias."

"Frankly, I have no intent of ever living here- I have Chateau Black a floo trip away, and it's much more to my liking. As to social privileges, well, if you continue to support my decisions, they're yours."

"If my mother is giving you her vote, then I'll give you mine as well," Lucretia said firmly. "Ignatius and I don't have an heir of our own, let alone a second child who could take the Black name. I'm sorry, Papa, but I think this may be for the best. Our direct line is stagnant, and if Cassiopeia really has a new heir in place already..."

"Well, you won't get my vote no matter what you promise," Cygnus snapped angrily. "Not if you plan to speak against a child of mine, regardless of her actions."

"I understand, nephew. However, I urge you to reconsider. When I repaint our story for the public eye, I'd hate for you to be left stumbling in the dark." Cassiopeia smiled broadly, "Regardless, that _is_ the majority. Which means I have consent for the spell."

"Really, Cassiopeia," Arcturus began, voice panicked and eye still twitching, only to be hushed by his wife.

"Please begin."

Cassiopeia smiled, closed her eyes, and began chanting. "Eligere dux in dextro, eligere dux in dextro, materfamilias mas! Eligere dux in dextro, eligere dux in dextro, materfamilias mas!"

She repeated herself seven times, the stifling, sparking presence of old magic growing thicker throughout the room with every word. The portrait of Ursula shivered in hungry anticipation as Cassiopeia and Arcturus began to glow a deep purple hue. The wand hand of each family member rose to the table as if by instinct, palms flat in the air, and slowly rotated to the candidate they had selected to lead their family in magic.

All but Cygnus pointed to Cassiopeia.

Gold formed in the center of each palm, twisting outward like ropes towards the candidates, and as Cassiopeia finished her chant, a total hush fell across the room. Then-

Chiming bells, faint at first but louder every second, and the thick magical blanket over the room increased pressure till all participants felt their knees beginning to buckle. In her portrait, Ursula cackled. "Here they come!" she muttered to herself, and sure enough, from the direction of the study came dozens and dozens of tiny balls of bluebell flame which came to rest over the table. Matching balls of flame rose out of Arcturus's body to meet them, mingling with those that had emerged from the true Black family tapestry.

"Is that…?" Lucretia whispered hesitantly, hand still frozen in the air.

"Yes," Cassiopeia said quietly, "Our family's magic will make the final decision."

And as if suddenly reminded of their purpose, the bluebell flames suddenly swirled together in a tornado-like column, racing around the room to caress first Arcturus, and then Cassiopeia, and then tracing along the golden lines connecting the family to the candidates. And then, finally, with a gong like sound, they rushed into Cassiopeia's chest and all of the lights disappeared.

She sunk to her knees immediately, gasping for air even as the heavy presence of old magic pressed down on her lungs. It was entirely too late to fail now, she reminded herself sternly, and repeated the mantra until she could fill her lungs again.

"It actually chose you," Arcturus was whispering repeatedly as he slowly dropped into his seat, Melania standing to gently wrap her hands around his shoulders. "They all actually found you more suitable than me."

"Cassiopeia!" Pollux prodded her incessantly, "Are you well?"

Struggling to appear unaffected as she stood, Cassiopeia smiled for her brother. "I am well, Pollux. And it is time for me to take my first action as Materfamilias. You're all free to go home now- I need to be alone to restore the family tree."


	9. Magic

**A/N:** Bonus points for any reader who can guess the inspiration for the breakfast joint described in this chapter. Hint- it is located in Dublin!

As a reminder, updates every Monday and Wednesday, and I deeply appreciate your reviews. Cheers!

* * *

_November 10, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

When Helen woke up from a dead faint at ten pm on a Wednesday, she found herself impressed with her mind's fantastical dream reel. Magic? Statutes of Secrecy? Squibs? Much too creative for a pragmatic dentist on a normal day!

She blamed bad fish in her sushi for lunch.

And then she realized her in-laws were very much actually at her house, and a yellow dotted family tree was on the dining room table, and that there was a horrifyingly high possibility that it wasn't just a dream.

She'd politely ushered her in-laws out of the house, sent her husband to get the baby bathed and into bed, and settled into her own tub with a whole bottle of wine and no small amount of irritation. When Daniel had tentatively come to find her, she had spent the better part of four hours whisper-yelling her extreme discontent with him and his shocking family and their even more shocking secrets.

"But," she had finally admitted before standing up in the tub and reaching for a cobalt blue silk robe. "But I'm willing to learn more."

"About magic?" Daniel had asked hopefully.

"About magic," Helen confirmed, tone a bit wistful. "You know, I always wanted to see a dragon when I was a girl. Fairies, too."

"Well, I don't fancy being flamed into a kabob," Daniel grinned and reached out a hand to help her step from the tub. "But I have an idea."

* * *

_November 12, 1981_

_Granger Corp., London_

Daniel was close lipped about his idea right up till Friday morning when he called the practice to have their appointments rescheduled for the day and bundled his little family into the car to drive them to Granger Corp.

"Good morning Doctors Granger," Komal nodded to them as they entered the building, "And good _morning_ sweet girl! How's my favorite little bossy pants?"

Hermione squealed, straining to escape her mother's grip and reach Komal. The pair had spent a decent amount of time together, as Marius quite enjoyed playing babysitter to avoid meetings when possible.

"Good morning! Dad said he'd be waiting for us in the back- is he in yet?"

"Yes, he's in his office- I can take you back now." Komal scooped Hermione up from where she'd made it to the desk and turned to lead them down the hallway. She knocked twice on the large double doors to Marius's office before popping one open.

"Your family is here, and I'm stepping out to run errands. Did you add anything to the list I gave you this morning to confirm?"

Marius started, looking up from his morning paper. "Oh, uh, well, no I didn't see anything that needed-,"

"Your grandfather hasn't even looked at the list," Komal confided to Hermione in a carrying voice, "Which means he has no idea that I included buying a new coffee station for the office to my list. Should I consider it approved?"

"Approve it!" Hermione crowed, and Marius groaned as he stood to steal his grandchild away.

"You too sweet pea? I'm doomed if you all gang up on me!"

"I'll leave you in her clearly capable little hands then," Komal gave a short little half bow in Marius's direction and waved at Helen and Daniel as she slid back down the hallway. "Have a lovely morning Doctors Granger."

"Bye Komal!" Helen called as the door to the office closed. "Can anyone explain what we're doing here? I thought I was going to see magic!"

"My dear girl, you most certainly are! We've a whole magical experience planned for you- but first, you need robes and a quick lesson in wizarding travel."

"Robes?" Helen furrowed her brow apprehensively, "That sounds a bit… cult-ish, don't you think?"

"Oh, robes have been the wizarding clothing preference for centuries. They certainly don't all match. I've brought you all some simple over robes for the day- they go over your normal clothing- so that you can blend comfortably into Diagon Alley. But we'll stop at a few different clothiers so you can see what I mean later." Marius tossed his son and daughter-in-law their over robes, which were complementary shades of green and deep blue. "Hermione darling come here and let Grandpa help you with yours."

"They're more comfortable than I expected," Helen whispered to her husband.

"Be honest, you were expecting bathrobes," he whispered back.

With everyone correctly attired (including himself), Marius strode over to the fireplace and pulled a blue and white porcelain urn off of the mantle. Twisting off the lid, he grabbed a handful of what looked like green sand and held it out to Helen. "Witches and wizards have four main forms of transportation. The first is brooms- yes, just like you read in novels. The second is called Apparition, and it is essentially what muggle's would refer to as 'teleportation', but with more rules. Both brooms and apparition are only available to magical individuals, and have a variety of downfalls such as weather, needing to know where you're going, splinching- injuries I mean. That leaves two more family friendly travel opportunities."

Marius sprinkled a bit of the powder into the fireplace, making the flames glow green as if he'd tumped in a container of borax. "This is called Floo powder. It allows anyone to travel between fireplaces- the fireplace just has to be officially registered for it to work. Mine is connected because of my late sister's desire to visit discreetly, as well as my own need to occasionally visit the wizarding bank Gringotts."

Ok, well, fire travel definitely sounded unappealing, so- "And the fourth option?" Helen asked hopefully.

"Called the Knight Bus. It's, well, it's not exactly toddler-proof."

"What Dad means is that it literally splits itself in half and has a driver who puts the phrase 'bat out of hell' to shame," Daniel said bluntly. "Trust me, the Floo is much preferred."

"So you want me to step into the fire?" Helen laughed. "Darling, no."

"Be kind, Daniel, I'm sure it's a horrific concept for someone who didn't grow up with it," Marius chided gently, "I still remember you and your sister wailing the first time we made you go through by yourself."

Daniel scowled, and Helen relaxed. "You've done it?"

"Oh of course- it was how we travelled to Aunt Cassie's until you and I got married, plus Mum still shops at a magical grocery occasionally." Daniel shrugged, "Now, the key is to say where you're going very, very precisely…"

It took nearly thirty minutes of annunciation practice and false starts, but by 9 am the Grangers were stumbling out of a bright red painted fireplace into what appeared to be a cozy restaurant. Past the red and gold leaf waiting area was a long wall of pillow padded benches and a dozen or so tables. The walls were covered with hand painted and gold framed portraits of tarts and tea sets, and above the coffee counter hovered a narrow ledge of loft seating.

It would have seemed quite normal, if not for the portraits visibly putting off steam and tea services floating around of their own accord.

"Welcome to the Witch of Tarts!" a rotund woman in bright red robes and a hat with a slice of pie on its brim beamed at them from the counter. "Come in, come in, and seat yourself!"

"Thought we'd start with breakfast," Marius informed them as he led the group to a corner of the shop. "A gentle introduction, you could say, before we go and explore. You'll just love the Witch's Delight, Helen, and our Hermione would be remiss without a wizarding porridge!"

Helen certainly was happy with the Witch's Delight- scones filled with some strange berry that actually popped in her mouth with every bite, tea, and cream. Thus fueled, she cheerfully followed her father-in-law and husband out of the shop and into Diagon Alley.

The Grangers wandered leisurely through Slug and Jiggers Apothecary (where Hermione took a disconcerting interest in a jar of newt eyes), Twillfit and Tattings (where Helen fell in love with several sets of robes that were perfectly impractical for her current life), the Magical Menagerie (where Daniel had to stop Marius from buying Hermione a litter of kneazle kittens), and Quality Quidditch Supplies (which held little interest for any of the Grangers). After a refreshing spot of tea in the Leaky Cauldron, Marius led them towards the real highlight of the trip: Flourish and Blott's.

"I imagine there are an awful lot of things you have questions about," Daniel said bashfully as his wife stared around the magical multi-level bookstore with awestruck eyes. "And the thing is, I won't always have the right answer. But I had Dad exchange some money for us yesterday, so we can get as many books as you want to answer all of your questions."

"Oh- oh!" Helen grinned as realization struck. "You're trying to bribe your way back into my good graces with books, is that it?"

Daniel flushed. "Happy wife, happy life?"

Resolved to make him eat his words (but only a little, as she was completely entranced with the magic she'd seen so far), Helen darted through the aisles of the store collecting dozens and dozens of books including _Wizarding Culture in the 20th Century_ , _History of Wizarding_ , _Witchcraft vs Wizardry_ , _Squibs and Their Roots_ , _Muggle Born Parent Manual_ , and _Wizarding Etiquette_. She deposited her dangerously high pile of selections with Daniel and Marius, who were playing a strange looking version of chess up on the third landing, and dragged her tiny daughter to a cheerfully marked children's section.

"And what books does my darling girl want?" she asked Hermione as they crouched low beside a shelf.

"Mummy, they're moving," Hermione stage whispered, pointing to the front of the book displays where various characters were hopping, waving, jumping, swimming, and trotting across the book covers.

"They are indeed, darling girl," Helen laughed, "And isn't it fabulous? It's magic!"

To no surprise, Hermione quickly picked two books for herself: one with a circling dragon on the front, and one with a brightly gleaming unicorn. Helen let her settle into a pint sized chair while she continued adding to her daughter's pile.

"I do wish there was a children's book guide somewhere around here," Helen mused as she glanced at a children's guide to gnomes.

"Far be it from this store to offer anything so convenient."

Spinning around, Helen came face to face with a strikingly tall, pale woman with long white hair down her back and silk blue robes much like the ones Helen had fancied at Twillfit and Tattings. A small tow headed boy sat on her hip. "If you need book recommendations, I'm happy to advise."

"Oh, could you? That'd be wonderful- I'd love to fill a few bookshelves for her at least on this trip. My daughter's only two, but we think she's starting to catch onto reading already if her obsession with the daily paper is any indication."

At the mention of multiple bookshelves, the woman's eyes warmed. "It is good to see others place an emphasis on reading and education- too many forget the importance of the written word." She glanced across the shelves, reaching out to pull several books down. "Your daughter will need Babbity Rabbit, certainly, and then let's see…."

In a matter of minutes, Helen's basket of books was overflowing with a pile that threatened immediate collapse (though the shopkeeper had promised that not only would the baskets never spill, but that they would never get heavier either). "That ought to cover a few shelves, I think."

"Truly, thank you." Helen gestured to where Hermione, who had been half hidden behind her, was still looking through the unicorn book. "Darling girl, can you say thank you?"

Hermione looked up.

The woman's eyes widened imperceptibly. "Your daughter- she has exquisite hair. It reminds me of my sister's."

"I'm told it's a family trait," Helen said ruefully, "My husband's Aunt Cassie keeps hers down to her waist to keep some weight on them, but with a toddler that'd be a disaster. Hermione, darling, come here and say thank you please."

The little girl stood distractedly, toddling on over to her mother's side and tucking her face behind her over robes in a rare fit of bashfulness. "Thank you."

"You're quite welcome… Hermione," Narcissa Malfoy said, and smiled widely at an oblivious Helen as the pieces fell into place.

* * *

_November 12, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

By the time the Grangers had gotten ice cream, made it back through the Floo, snuck around Komal, and started driving home they were all exhausted. Daniel carried a sleeping Hermione up from the car to her crib while Helen kicked off her shoes and curled up in their shared study.

"Wine, love?"

"Yes, please." Helen smiled as her husband poured and handed her a glass, swirling the deep red liquid around her cup idly. "I've made up my mind, I think."

"Oh?"

Helen waited till Daniel had sat down on the couch and draped one arm around her to continue. "Magic is… surprising. But it's also absolutely mesmerizing, and wonderful, and if that's our baby's birth right…. then Daniel, I won't have us be the ones to separate her from it."

"You'll go along with Dad and Aunt Cassie's scheming then?" Daniel tried to hide the surprise in his voice.

"I suppose to a point- but believe you me, I don't intend on handing our daughter over to a world I don't know. We're going to be beside her every step of the way, whether these wizards and witches like it or not."


	10. Trump Card

_November 12, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

Pip was not used to her mistress willfully gallivanting around England, but she was quite used to dealing with Miss Cassiopeia during what Pip referred to as "an episode".

Episodes tended to occur after a very long project concluded, or when Miss Cassiopeia had burned both ends of the candle researching for too many days, or when Miss Cassiopeia was exposed to an unusually large number of people (read: anyone other than Pip) for an unusually long time (read: more than one day).

Each episode was the same. Pip would go to wake her mistress up only to find that she was "not quite well today" and was in need of many naps, extensive snacking material, and several hours of Bing Crosby and Billie Holiday on the muggle record player in the corner. Sometimes Miss Cassiopeia would cry, sometimes she would cackle, and most often of all she would sit and theorize with Pip why muggle music was so much catchier than anything currently out in the wizarding world. Pip was fairly certain this was the extent of her mistress's family madness, and as far as she was concerned, an episode once in a blue moon was positively sane by House Black standards.

Long experience allowed Pip to predict when her mistress would have an episode, so it was no surprise when immediately after disabling the ward stone, dismissing the extended family, and reinstating Marius on the family tree; Miss Cassiopeia whisked them both home to Chateau Black and took hot tea in bed before promptly collapsing in sleep.

And sure enough, the next morning when Pip went to open the curtains, Missy Cassiopeia's voice trailed through the bed hangings saying, "Oh dear, Pip, the world just won't do- I'm just not quite well today, you see."

"Would Missy be wanting biscuits?" Pip offered immediately, as always.

"Oh surely not Pip- well, maybe a tray. Or two. And hot chocolate?"

"Pip is being right back," Pip smiled broadly and snapped her way down to the kitchen.

Routine was sweet.

* * *

Pip was in the middle of arguing the redeeming properties of magical soloist Sybill Leek and her clear superiority to the muggle Beatles for the third time that day when she suddenly stopped and perked up both bat-like ears.

"Is… Is Missy Cassiopeia feeling the wards ringing?" Pip asked hesitantly.

Cassiopeia rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows. "Why, is that what that peculiar tingling is?"

"Surely it is not," Pip said fretfully, though her ears were twitching dubiously. "No one is to be bothering Missy Cassiopeia today!"

Bemused, Cassiopeia glanced down at her nightgown and then over towards the fireplace across the room. "I suppose I could receive them here?"

Pip buried her head in her hands for a moment before perking up, stating firmly, "There is being no guests!"

"Pip, I'm quite certain we have someone waiting in our Floo line."

"If we wait they is giving up and going home!"

"I'm afraid we can't just ignore people now that I'm the materfamilias."

"But Missy Cassiopeia, the schedule!" Pip wailed and threw herself off the bed with a loud _thunk_!

Cassiopeia peeked over the edge of her bed at the distraught house elf. "Would you feel better if I stated that everyone must make an appointment unless it's an emergency going forward?"

A muffled noise that may have been agreement came through the rhythmic head banging occurring on the floor.

"If they don't owl or send a Patronus ahead in an emergency, you're welcome to leave them stuck in the Floo for a bit."

The head banging slowly subsided.

"Now if you're quite done, let our visitor through. This tingling sensation is getting _unbearably_ itchy."

An extremely morose looking Pip glanced from her mistress to the fireplace and back again before snapping twice- the first snap pulling her mistress's nightie tightly around her shoulders, the second bringing the fireplace to life.

"I find myself shocked you didn't blast out of the fireplace instead of waiting," Cassiopeia blinked as her guest materialized in the green tinged flames.

Isla Calderon stepped gracefully from the fireplace in a swoop of flattering rose colored robes. "Don't thank me darling- I simply didn't want to have to expend the effort of helping you put your wards back up again."

Cassiopeia pulled her wand off of the bedside table and pointed it towards an overstuffed chair near the fire, drawing it up next to the bed. "Is it too late in the day for tea?"

"Likely, but it's never too late for a glass of wine. I've come to check on you- though you obviously haven' been murdered, so that seems to be a pleasant start."

"Liar." Cassiopeia chuckled affectionately. "You want information, don't you?"

"Surely not! Though, if you did feel like sharing…." Isla dropped into the chair, crossed her ankles, and smiled winningly.

"The brief summary is that Walburga killed Orion, the entirety of the family was persuaded to my cause- well, except Cygnus and Arcturus himself- and I'm now a materfamilias with quite the to-do list."

"Walburga killed- Morganna! But there was no funeral!"

"That is one of the items on the to do list now," Cassiopeia sighed heavily. "So entirely un-Black though- I must say it embarrasses me that I even have to store her in my dungeons after that bit of bad behavior."

"Pardon?"

"Walburga, of course. I couldn't leave her at the Manor or someone would murder her, so I had Pip pop her down into my own dungeons with orders to keep her unconscious. It wouldn't do for her to be deprived of her chance to make herself useful for once."

"Cassiopeia Black, are you _ad libbing_ our original plan?"

"Before you fret, let me read you my to do list. Pip, could you- oh, thank you. And the wine! Isla do tell me how you like this bottle. It's from an elven vineyard not far away." Cassiopeia sat her own glass to the side and smoothed a thick sheet of parchment across her lap. "Item one: Complete acquisition of the Grangers."

"You mean complete the _gracious reunification_ of your family- honestly, acquisition? Though I _was_ under the impression you were to do that on Wednesday."

"Well, Marius's daughter-in-law took magic as a bit of a shock- she's a delicate little thing, I think, incredibly smart but _clearly_ jumpy. After she collapsed, Marius promised to bring the whole group over for tea so we can try it again. I'm quite prepared to slip her a calming drought if needed this time."

"I do hope you at least have the sense to not tell your brother you plan on drugging his daughter-in-law. Tea, you say? What day?"

"Pip?"

"Missy's brother and his family is coming to tea tomorrow."

"Lovely, I'm free- I suppose I'll have to keep you from ruining the plan by traumatizing the poor girl."

"There is nothing _traumatizing_ about a rational discussion of magic," Cassiopeia muttered.

Motioning to Pip for a top off, Isla continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "Actually, I believe I'll borrow little Blaise from Elvira for the day. There's nothing sweeter than two babies playing together."

Cassiopeia's expression suggested she might disagree, but she instead nodded sagely. "Ah, yes, your grandson's symmetrical features certainly might do the trick."

House elf and house guest sighed in discreet unison.

"Moving along the list?"

"Item two- meet with Amelia Bones. She has her own sub list." Cassiopeia frowned at the sub bullets. "It's quite extensive now."

"Amelia Bones- I take it you've decided to move along with the investigation into Sirius Black's behavior during the war then?"

Cassiopeia's eyes gleamed. "I just found it incredibly intriguing that his mother didn't think him capable of serving the Dark Lord, and that Lucretia doesn't recall any trial before he was sent to Azkaban."

Isla drew in a sharp breath, her mind whirling with potential. "He's still being slandered across the paper daily. But…"

"But," Cassiopeia agreed with a bright smile. "Now then. Item three- plan Orion's funeral. Item four- interview with the Prophet. Item five- public confiscation of the Longbottoms from St. Mungos-,"

"Do _not_ say public confiscation outside of this room, you make it sound like a _kidnapping_ -,"

"- item five, family reunion. Then begins the second list, which may need alterations based on our initial results."

"Not many new items, really- your kinfolk were bought more easily than I expected." Isla raised one eyebrow in question as Cassiopeia shook her head.

"Yes and no, I suppose. Their desires really just happened to align with our plans- perhaps they'll fall in line more willingly than expected. Pip! The case board."

Pip disappeared with a sharp crack, returning instantly with the large case board in tow. Instead of the string-and-newspaper correlations it had displayed initially at Black Manor, it held pinned images of members of the Family Council with a parchment page of notes underneath each.

"Someone's been busy."

"Proper research is the most important thing in the world- and it requires copious note taking, I've found. Now, see here. Callidora wanted Bellatrix disowned, but after some backlash has agreed to have her declared unfit instead. Secondly, she demanded that I study the Longbottoms."

"That was convenient."

"Arcturus' family gave their votes for free once I accused Walburga and ensured she'd be punished for her actions, though Lucretia did make clear I am expected to provide the next Black family heir. They labor under the impression that I'm planning a blood adoption."

"Well, blood _is_ technically involved."

"Narcissa spoke for Bellatrix being declared unfit, but she also wants my heir of choice to be raised with the Malfoy child."

"Do tell?"

"She specified studying together, and suggested that they be raised to be close friends."

Isla paused, frowning. "Looking for a betrothal? Or just making sure any second child she has still inherits some of the Black fortune? Hard to tell with your family. Regardless- will the meek mother agree to giving up control of your little Hermione's education in favor of a Malfoy prescribed one?"

"Well…. I never did tell Narcissa where the classes would be, or what topics they'd cover." Cassiopeia's lips quirked. "Education seems to be something Helen is passionate about, so I don't see her simply giving up Hermione without a bye your leave. But I do think I have a... publicly perfect compromise."

"Education standards for muggle children are higher pre-Hogwarts than they are for Pureblood wizarding children," Isla mused, "If education is important to the muggle… why, Cassiopeia, you clever witch, I do believe I see your plan."

"Sit with it a moment- I'll certainly need your clever touch to pull it off, and children are more your forte than mine to be frank. If you could spin it for Narcissa and Helen's benefit…"

The two witches shared a conspiratorial look, gleaming eyes and firelight making them look much younger than they were.

"That leaves Pollux and Alphard's requests."

"Melania, surprisingly, took Pollux's vote and handed it to me for free- the silly man was fretting himself to an early death. Alphard requested a full inquiry into Sirius."

"Another mark in his favor, if you will," Isla mused, "I must say, that little situation is becoming increasingly relevant in our campaign."

"I'm a tad concerned about the public's response if we come out too strongly in his favor right off the cuff. I'd hate for an underpaid reporter to get the wrong impression and call us self-serving."

"The Blacks _are_ self serving."

"I'd rather say _family_ serving- and how is that for correct nomenclature, hm?"

Isla brought her glass of wine to her lips, pausing thoughtfully as she stared at the case board. "Fortunately, darling, you do have more than one trump card to play."

"I do?"

"Have you forgotten your nephew already?"

Cassiopeia studied the Black family tree quizzically. "Alphard? _Surely_ you don't mean Cygnus."

Isla huffed theatrically and stood, moving to spin the case board. When it stopped rotating manically, she pointed at a newspaper article featuring a half destroyed cottage and dozens of swarming ministry officials. The title above the image screamed ' _BOY WHO LIVES SAVES US ALL_ ' in large print.

"Dorea's grandson is the hero of Britain. There is almost _nothing_ the public won't forgive of us if we have Harry Potter."

"One problem," Cassopeia felt obliged to point out, waving her hand at a different newspaper article. "Albus Dumbledore has hidden Harry Potter."

Isla gave her the same blood thirty grin she'd given Tolly when describing the wards on her fireplace. "Leave that to me."


	11. Tea

_November 13, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

By the time Pip served tea in the magically heated conservatory of Chateau Black, Isla had realized that she and Cassiopeia had made a grave miscalculation of Helen Granger.

Instead of stumbling out of the fireplace in a dead faint, the younger woman had stepped out with a grace that Isla had always associated with Purebloods and balance that most muggleborns never achieved. Her clothing was clearly muggle, but the light grey wool mini skirt and matching belted blazer was of a quality to rival Twillfit and Tattings' wares. She did not look meek, or bent, or even remotely anxious- instead, her brown eyes gleamed with intrigue as she glanced around the room. During introductions, she commandeered the conversations with dozens of well thought out questions about magical life.

Helen Granger was no mouse- she was magnificent.

Isla crossed her ankles to one side, careful to knock her toe into Cassiopeia's shin. When her friend turned to look at her, they engaged in a brief unspoken conversation using rapid blinking and minute facial expressions to convey their points. Aloud, it would have sounded something like:

"Don't slip her a potion."

"I'll _have_ to slip her a potion if she starts getting jumpy, Pip might smother us all if we get off schedule."

" _Cassiopeia Black_ if you slip her a potion so help me Morganna _I_ will smother you."

"Oh fine, but do try not to make her faint again then, I'd like to enjoy my biscuits in peace."

Nonverbal agreement thus achieved, the pair turned back to the tea.

Pip, who thrived on planning but detested last minute visitors, had been quite uncertain what to serve for a tea party scheduled less than a year in advance. But after much flustered ear wringing and three visits to Black Manor to consult the Head Elf, she had produced a tea layout worthy of a magical magazine spread.

On top of the little elf's preferred china set (a black and bone white pattern depicting funeral chrysanthemums) sat shrimp skagens, earl grey cakes, crab scotch quails egg, delicate finger sandwiches, avocado toasties with salmon, strawberry shortcakes, and a plethora of scones and biscuits. There was whole milk in flowering pitchers for the babies, and six tea varieties with cream and sugar for the adults. Pip had even procured non-lethal flowers (from where Cassiopeia couldn't begin to guess) to sit in front of each dainty place setting.

While the adults had been assigned seats around a long wrought iron table, the two toddlers in attendance had been dropped into the middle of the magical playpen which, Cassiopeia had assured the worried mother and grandmothers in the room, would keep Blaise and Hermione from crawling off and getting their tiny hands on any of the conservatory's more toxic plant species. They now perched on pint sized chairs at their own little table, shrieking with delight as the sugar cubes Pip had crafted into tiny magical creatures danced across the top of their milk before sinking in and melting.

"How old did you say your grandson was?" Agnes smiled as she watched Hermione and Blaise dump a unicorn and a manticore into the same dish. Now _that_ would make for an exotic beast fight.

"Blaise turned two in October." Isla paused calculatingly. "I must say, the two seem to get on splendidly. Blaise has only had a handful of playdates so far, but it seems we've deprived him of quite the good time having someone his own age around."

"A handful is still a better track record than ours. Helen and I have friends with children in secondary school but none younger, so I do believe that this is Hermione's very first play date." Helen nodded her mute agreement with her husband's statement.

"But I do believe you have a sister, do you not? Does she have no children of her own?"

Agnes snorted. "Patricia? _Children?_ Lord spare us all."

"What she means is that Patricia is too much of a free spirit for children at this point in her life-,"

"At _any_ point in her life-,"

"And so unfortunately, no, Hermione has no cousins to be playmates." Marius shot his wife a censoring Look, but she ignored him in favor of popping an apple slice into her mouth.

"I'd be more than happy to host Hermione for continued playdates in the future," Isla offered with a gracious smile that hid her pleasure. Blaise was certainly a pretty child, and one day he would inherit quite a lot of money. However, allies- friends- from good families were important when one did not have a traditionally British last name. "Perhaps I could plan a day at the MagiZoo in Paris for them in the coming weeks."

" _We_ would love to attend," Helen smiled, but Isla caught the steel in her expression. "And of course, we'd love to host Blaise in return. There's several children's plays a year in the theatre near our home, I'm sure they'd both enjoy that as well."

So the woman was expecting to be left out- that was interesting. Isla slid a surreptitious glance in Cassiopeia's direction, wondering if Cassiopeia had explained the concept of blood prejudice. Isla could think of no other reason for the young mother to be wary. Ah, well.

"If you can get a schedule, then I'll speak with Blaise's mother and we can get both little trips on the calendar."

"I'll invite the Malfoy child on your behalf." Cassiopeia made a face at her tea cup. "I suppose I rather forgot to mention that I promised Narcissa that Hermione would be one of his close friends."

From Helen, perplexed: "Hermione doesn't even like the same fruit two days in a row, how are you promising she'll be close friends with someone?"

From Marius, resigned: "And here we go..."

Agnes paused her unsubtle tipping of a flask into her tea cup, looking like she'd found something incredibly unpleasant on her shoe. "Ew, Malfoys."

"Cass, we've likely walked around the point long enough- would you mind telling us all exactly what you've been up to the past few days?"

Cassiopeia applied a generous portion of clotted cream to some kind of berry scone. "Agnes, try a bit of this one- the zoogberries are particularly explosive this season."

Marius gave an impatient little huff, and his twin grinned. "Yes little brother, I _did_ hear you. To answer your question- the night before last, I took over as the Black family materfamilias."

Marius dropped his tea cup, hot liquid spreading across the table rapidly. Faintly, "Pardon?"

"Oh, didn't I explain how I was going to get Arcturus to cooperate?" Cassiopeia blinked owlishly, then frowned. "Dear me, you've gone and ruined the last of the shrimp skagens."

"Excuse me, but… I've been researching the magical world some, and isn't that an incredibly powerful position?"

Shrimp skagens forgotten, Cassiopeia's own tea cup slammed into its saucer as she turned wide eyes on Helen. "You... research?

"Uhm, yes?"

Daniel's chest puffed out with pride. "My wife is the smartest person I know- absolutely devours books, you know. She's been researching your world since dinner and, frankly? I think she knows more than I do now."

"You _research_ ," Cassiopeia repeated breathily, "Oh, my. I've _never_ had another family member who actually enjoys researching."

"Well, there is your niece," Marius reminded, only for Agnes to burst into laughter.

"Sexual exploration is hardly Cassiopeia's preferred research method."

From Cassiopeia: "No, but it was Grandmother Ursula's."

From Marius: "She got it honestly."

The Black twins gave a nearly identical shudder.

"Cassiopeia, darling, wandering back to the point now?"

"Ah yes, thank you Isla. I can't tell you how pleased I am with your choice in wife now, Daniel," both Daniel and Helen looked mildly affronted, "but to answer your question my dear girl- my dear _researching_ girl!- materfamilias is indeed a powerful position in the old families."

"And when you say old families…?"

"The Sacred 28," Isla supplied, "It's a list of the pureblood families in England- British wizards do have rather big heads."

"You're just still annoyed that the Bulstrodes slighted you when you married a Spaniard." Cassiopeia smirked, lowering her voice and leaning towards the table as if confiding a great secret. "My dear Isla can hold _quite_ the grudge."

"Alejandro's blood is just as pure as any Bulstrode's," Isla sniffed haughtily before a wicked smile curved over her cheeks. "Added bonus, he's much prettier."

"So there are only 28 families who consistently inter-marry with one another to keep their blood… 'pure'? I assumed there had to be more, the way the books talked." Helen eyed her in-laws warily. "Have you heard of the reasons inbreeding is illegal in the regular world?"

Agnes patted her hand. "Don't bother, darling, they're stubborn about this one."

"I don't want my grandchildren to be like Charles II of Spain!"

"Not an issue- Hermione will be able to choose any pureblood from anywhere in the world she wants." Cassiopeia soothed. "So long as they agree to take the Black name so she can inherit the title of Materfamilias, that is. But marriage is a rather long way off to be discussing it today, so how about we focus back on Marius's original question."

Marius raised a single eyebrow. "Really?"

"My first action as Materfamilias was to restore you to the family tree. After you and I complete the second half of the ritual, the rest of you Grangers will appear as part of House Black."

"What does that mean for us, precisely?"

"A lot of things, actually. Your homes will be warded with the traditional Black family wards, and you yourself- yes, even you muggles- will have some innate resistance to harmful spells thanks to the ebb and flow of the family magic between everyone living who is on the tree. Daniel and Marius- and eventually Hermione- will be part of the family council, which is summoned when House Black needs to confer with one another for the good of the whole family. You'll all have access to the Black family vaults, and even the items cursed by our ancestors to harm muggles won't have an adverse affect on you. There are other details, but Pip can send you information in the coming weeks."

"So what next? The Malfoy comment- you made a deal with Cygnus's daughter?" Marius spoke up when his son and daughter-in-law looked too surprised to react.

"I made quite a few deals. But yes, one was with Narcissa. I've promised her that my chosen heir and her son would be-," Cassiopeia paused. "That they would be raised to be good friends."

"What if Hermione doesn't like him?" Agnes mused. "I did meet Abraxas Malfoy once, and let me tell you, a more pompous little git has never lived."

The Black twins glanced at one another. "Fair enough."

"I'm not sure our daughter should be learning from-,"

Isla waved one hand dismissively. "I'm sure it's fair to say that the research you've done, Helen, has turned up a fair amount about class structure in the wizarding world?"

"Entirely too much of it," Helen grimaced. "And I recognize the name Malfoy from the books, plus I quite trust Agnes's opinion."

"You must have no faith in your daughter, that you don't think she could help the Malfoy child turn out better than his grandfather- who, by the way, passed on several years ago."

The adults around the table turned to look at the toddlers, who had switched from battling sugar animals to violently throwing themselves against the wards of the pen before bouncing off in explosions of giggles.

"My daughter is... _two_."

"Your daughter, my dear, is a _Black_."

Marius sighed. "I must say, Madame Calderon is correct. The Black women are a remarkably determined breed- I'd lay money on our girl having a positive effect on the Malfoy child."

"Besides, he _is_ one of her closest cousins," Cassiopeia reminded, "and I would love to see a united younger generation- the press will absolutely eat it up."

Helen and Daniel shared a long look before Daniel shrugged. "A few playdates can't hurt."

"And in the future, there's also schooling to be disc-," Cassiopeia yelped when Isla's entire foot smashed into her knee below the table. "I mean, I'm glad we could agree. Pip will work with everyone's schedules to help arrange the Magizoo visit. Isla- can we get that photographed?"

"Certainly."

"Lovely. So then- after Marius and I complete the ritual, there's a quick ritual with Hermione to make her eligible for heirship, and then I plan to announce her as my heir to both the rest of the family and to the wizarding world at large. I have the perfect public event in mind."

From Helen: "Like a public news conference, or?"

From Agnes: "Please tell me it isn't a Christmas ball or something equally archaic."

From Marius: "Who died?"

Cassiopeia smiled at her brother. "Orion Black, as a matter of fact. Murdered by his wife-,"

"Wasn't his wife Pollux's daughter?"

"-and until now denied a proper Black family funeral. I'll be planning it soon, and you all must attend."

"A funeral?" Daniel looked a little green. "A bit morbid, isn't it?"

Cassiopeia gave her nephew a stern look. "You are a Black. We love funerals- you'll have to wrap your mind around it."

"We haven't had any conversation with Hermione about death yet."

"No time like the present then- she is, as you've repeatedly reminded, only two. She'll catch on."

Marius held up one hand, shaking his head minutely before his son could argue further.

"I've had Pip put together her delightful little packets for each of you- they have the rest of the information and scheduling you'll need between now and the funeral. Pip!"

Helen visibly braced herself when the _crack!_ ing noise resounded through the conservatory, shutting both her eyes and taking a long breath before peeking towards the little house elf.

House elf and muggle stared at one another warily for a long moment before Pip gave the tiniest bow she could possibly perform. "Pip is still scaring Missy Cassiopeia's muggle niece."

"Surely not," Cassiopeia said in surprise. "Why, Pip, you're positively harmless. Helen isn't nearly as jumpy today, are you dear?"

Marius groaned.

"Uhm, no, no, not scared at all. Just fine in fact…," Helen gulped and attempted a rather weak smile, "... Pip."

The house elf's made a face, turning away from 'the jumpy muggle lady' in favor of her mistress. "Pip is bringing the packets missy was requesting!"

"Give an overview of the contents, would you Pip?"

Pip's sudden toothy smile bordered on predatorial. "Certainly, Missy."

The little elf snapped the fingers on her right hand, and thick packets distributed themselves to the four adult Grangers. They were color coded- Black for Marius, white for Agnes, pale blue for Daniel, and pale green for Helen.

"These folders is containing all of missy's family's itineraries. Pip is breaking each day into time tables for the Grangers." Pip snapped a second time, and the folders opened to show the first sheet of parchment: the promised itinerary.

"This covers at least three weeks!" Agnes wrinkled her nose at the itinerary, peeking over her husband's shoulder to see if they matched.

"Pip believes planning ahead is important." Cassiopeia glanced at her elf fondly before grabbing for her ninth biscuit. Isla had a feeling that Pip's mildly dismayed glance came with a mental note to only serve vegetables with dinner.

"Pip was also putting the Grangers' to-do lists in their folders next." Pip continued determinedly. "The Grangers will be noticing that Pip has included a list of reference books they must be studying so they are not going and embarrassing Pip's missy Cassiopeia in public."

"I do believe that creature just insulted all of our manners," Daniel mused, flipping through pieces of parchment and skimming over to-do list items such as 'Procure new wizarding wardrobe' and 'Memorize approved public statements'. "And to think, I always got such good marks for classroom etiquette too."

"You've got a wholly different culture to learn in a very short time," Cassiopeia said carefully. "Pip has simply gathered a crash course of information for your own benefit."

"Little missy Hermione has a folder too, but Pip is being in charge of managing it," Pip looked torn between being eager and dismayed. "Missy Cassiopeia has ordered it."

"And that'll be where I draw a line, I think," Helen murmured, half to herself and half to her husband. Then, louder, "One of us will need to be present any time you have Hermione for the foreseeable future- I don't want her in the magical world without Daniel and I. So you might as well hand over that schedule, and I'll tell you what we can make work."

Cassiopeia looked stunned. "But-,"

"That's my final word."

"I see, but-,"

"Otherwise we leave today and don't participate in this ridiculous charade at all."

Cassiopeia's lips pressed together. "You know, wizarding folk trust their children with house elves all the time."

"Whereas Daniel and I don't trust normal babysitters, let alone magical... nannies." Helen's flat tone left no room for further argument.

"Pip, hand Helen her daughter's schedule." Cassiopeia huffed, and Isla braced herself for the inevitable pouting that came with the Black witch not getting her way when working on a project. "There will be times that one of you is preferred to another for chaperone- ladies meetings, for example, would be a tad awkward."

"We can be flexible. As long as either Daniel or I can run our clinic, the other can get away for a bit."

"And if you can't, or if something changes?"

"We're a phone call away-,"

"Phone call?"

"Oh _please_ tell me you have _phones_ -,"

"Enough!" Marius and Agnes snapped in unison. Startled, both toddlers stopped their violent bouncing and began to wail.

"Enough," Marius repeated more quietly, standing and walking over to the playpen to pick up both children. Hermione glommed onto him immediately, Blaise a bit more warily.

"Cass, I know Pip is the only one you trust to stick to a schedule, but Helen has a point- Hermione doesn't know you, and she's not been around magic. And either way, while we've agreed to your plan, we won't be puppets. You have to be a _bit_ less rigid."

Cassiopeia released a long suffering sigh. "My apologies- I suppose I may have gotten a smidgen short sighted while planning for the rise of House Black. I do want what's best for the family, and that does include each of you."

Helen and Daniel stared at each silently for a long, tense moment before Helen nodded. "Daniel and I have talked about this a lot in the past few days, and we want Hermione to have every possible advantage in the magical world- and we do know that means helping you with this… PR campaign… right now. But Hermione is still _our_ daughter, and we want to be involved with and informed of anything and everything that involves her."

"Quite reasonable," Isla interjected before Cassiopeia could say anything to ruin the tentative accord. "Cassiopeia will make every effort to respect that going forward, won't you darling?"

Cassiopeia nodded her agreement, any trace of frustration vanished from her neutral expression. "You know, sometimes the best scientific breakthroughs are the result of stimulating conversation. You're always welcome to start one- a stimulating conversation, I mean."

"I suppose our first better be about telephones, Aunt Cassie."

"Pardon?"


	12. Hogwarts Visit

_November 15, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

It had been a very long time since Isla had stepped foot into Hogwarts, but the years seemed to fade away as she approached the front gates. In her mind's eye she was suddenly 15 again, walking arm in arm with an absent-minded Cassiopeia Black as they rushed back before curfew on a Hogsmeade weekend.

"Isla! It is absolutely wonderful to see you!"

Isla smiled beatifically as Professor Filius Flitwick, Charms Master and renowned dueling champion, tapped his wand against the gate to swing it open. "It's been too long."

"I'd certainly say Miss Selwyn- apologies, Madame Calderon. I haven't seen you since you decided being an Apprentice wasn't half as interesting as that Spanish boy," Filius chuckled. "Did your father ever forgive you for quitting Master March's tutelage?"

"The dowry he negotiated seemed to soften the blow," Isla said dryly. "Did your father ever forgive you for joining the dueling rings before the ink on your Mastery parchment was even dry?"

"Eh, no," Filius grinned. "He most certainly did not- but I'm sure that wherever the dead retreat to, he's perfectly content there now that I'm back at Hogwarts."

They'd made their way halfway up to the castle by then, curving around the Black Lake and up the sloping hill. The grounds were bare- it was November after all- but dozens and dozens of torch lit windows glowed in the afternoon gloom.

"It strikes me as strange that we never would have taken this path together when we were in school."

Isla shot him a mildly incredulous look. "Walk out with a younger Ravenclaw? Oh absolutely not- the things they'd have assumed in our day!"

"Times have certainly changed, haven't they? Or I'd hoped they had." Filius sighed. "I now can only hope that they will again. Is that why you're here?"

"Can't I visit an old friend? A fellow apprentice who I've not seen in decades?"

Filius fixed her with a heavy gaze. "You could, but you wouldn't." He held open the heavy doors into the castle, gesturing her forward.

Isla smiled and waved a hand airily. "I suppose our three years together gave you a bit more insight on my character than I could avoid. But today's conversation would be better served by a private location."

Nodding, Filius changed topics and the two casually discussed the key differences between Spanish and British cuisine as they strode through the halls of Hogwarts. Filius was in the process of bemoaning the lack of tapas in British culture when they came to the Ravenclaw Head's personal quarters at the base of Ravenclaw tower.

"-and I must say, the little sardines on toast? I'd trade my- hello Ronaldo, password is 'not another riddle please'- best dueling costume for those on the regular."

"Can the house elves not make them?"

"Won't I'm afraid- oh, do come in please, have a seat at the table. Dumbledore has the elves under orders to provide strictly British cuisine for the sake of school tradition."

Isla rolled her eyes. "Boiled and salted only then. That man has absolutely no sense of culture."

"Brilliant man, but not particularly… empathetic," Filius agreed. "He hasn't been able to understand why we have students complain about their cultural needs being stifled."

"Minerva McGonagall is set to take over when he retires, is she not? I'd think she would be more open minded."

"Minerva is one of my absolute closest friends- she's also a Gryffindor. She won't see the need for the change until someone actually explains it to her. Not a subtle lot, the lions."

As they talked, Isla sat down at the hand carved table in what doubled as Filius' study and front parlor. The room as a whole was decorated in shades of blue and bronze, but Filius' dueling awards and certificates as well as his charms mastery articles were showcased across the walls in between tidy shelves filled with ancient looking books. A fire crackled in one corner of the room, and a portrait of a sleeping woman hung in another. The overall effect was quite cozy, and while Isla struggled to rectify the space with the young man she had been an apprentice with four decades prior, it seemed to fit the current Professor Filius Flitwick like a well tailored robe.

Filius sat a tea tray as wide as he was tall on the table before hoisting himself up into a high legged chair across from Isla. "Help yourself. I'd say this is quite the private location- care to explain your visit?"

"Thank you. Your initial conclusion was close to correct- I'm here because of the events of the past month. Specifically, I'm investigating on behalf of the Potters."

Filius looked surprised. "The Potters are… Isla, surely you know."

"Not all of them have passed, Filius. Harry Potter is still left."

"That poor child lost everyone in a single night- I can't even imagine it. His parents dead, his godfather to blame, and his godmother addled… I'm grateful for their sacrifices, because I can see light for the first time in a very long time. Yet I still find it too much to bear." Filius stared morosely into the fireplace. "They were all my students, you know. Incredibly bright- especially Lily. If she hadn't had a stubborn streak a mile wide she'd have made a fine Ravenclaw."

"I understand they were more than just students to you," Isla commented, tone deceptively mild.

Filius turned to look at her sharply. "I'd find it more effective for you to share what you know, instead of waiting for me to accidentally reveal something you didn't."

"Knowledge is power, isn't it Filius?" Isla sipped her tea.

"Isla."

"Oh alright, spoil sport. Let's just say a little birdy told me quite a lot about the Order of the Phoenix."

"Maybe you should explain what you want from me."

"Knowledge, obviously. But I didn't come empty handed." Isla dropped a sugar cube into her fresh cup. "Some very strange things have happened in a very short period of time, Filius. From so far away, I can begin to see the holes in the puzzle."

Filius said nothing, watching his guest patiently.

"James and Lily Potter disappeared from the public eye over a year ago- barely a month after the Potter's formal pregnancy announcement was sent out to the family. Charlus and Dorea were already gone, and so it fell to the remaining family to celebrate with them. However, when gifts were sent, they were returned unopened. Further inquiries showed that the Potters were simply…. Gone." A long delicate finger traced the rim of the tea cup. "It takes very little to conclude that, as active members of the Order of the Phoenix resistance, the couple likely were in hiding at Dumbledore's insistence."

Filius nodded slightly.

"I'll give you the first plot hole for free. Why did Albus Dumbledore, the internationally acclaimed greatest wizard of the age and savior of the people, hide the Potters in his _hometown_? And if it was his protection they were under, then how were they ever discovered?"

"They trusted the wrong person."

"Oh, we can agree on that- but I have to wonder if we'd name the same 'wrong person' as yet."

"Surely you aren't inferring-,"

"After the Potters were murdered and You-Know-Who was destroyed, however that may have come about, the newest savior of the entire wizarding world disappeared. No babies matching the Potter boy's description were taken through St. Mungos, or reported at the Ministry of Magic. I've been told that Alice Longbottom, the child's godmother, was quite frantic- she was supposedly the first choice to raise the boy. But, of course, Alice was almost immediately rendered into a state where she cannot care for her own child, let alone look for someone else's.

"The same day Alice tells her own family that she is attempting to discover Harry's location, Sirius Black is captured and arrested for the betrayal of the Potters, violation of the International Statute, and murder of thirteen people- including Peter Pettigrew. Within days of James and Lily's deaths, the two most obvious choices to raise their child in their stead have been removed from the equation and Albus Dumbledore has frozen the Potters' will- for the child's safety. He tells the public that the child is safe, and refuses to tell anyone his location- not even those who would have claim to him by blood."

"Investigating on behalf of the Potters- there are no Potters living to be looking for that little boy. Who are you really prying for, Isla?"

"Dorea Black was a Potter, and it is for her sake that Cassiopeia Black wants to make sure the child is alive and safe." Isla had spent four hours the night before debating the merits of being honest about her interest in Harry Potter- but like any good Slytherin would conclude, one is almost always better served by a partial truth.

"Cassiopeia Black- surely you don't expect me to give information, which you assume I even have, to a woman related to the man who betrayed the Potters!" Filius' voice rose to a shaky squeak in his sudden anger.

"For a man who believes that 'wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure', you're being incredibly obtuse right now Filius," Isla was careful to keep her voice neutral and her smile relaxed. "I told you I was providing you with information as well- and only the first plot hole was free. Don't you see the others?"

Clearly conflicted, Filius scowled down at his tea. "You clearly want to lead me to a very specific conclusion today."

"Yes. But then I want you to prove it for yourself. I'd have hardly any respect for you if you just followed someone's word blindly." The double edged comment had its intended effect- Filius' eyes sparked with frustrated magic, and his wand twitched where he'd laid it on the table.

"Your understanding of the Order of the Phoenix may be somewhat lacking."

"I'm sure."

"And your insinuations are, frankly, beyond my belief. However…," Filius hopped off his chair in favor of pacing.

"However."

"I never knew Cassiopeia Black," Filius said suddenly. "I've heard she's a great researcher, and I know of her work in potions development."

"You say Lily Evans would have been a Ravenclaw if not for her stubborn streak a mile wide? Well, Cassiopeia may have been if she were not a Black with expectations on her shoulders." Isla hesitated. "Her twin brother was born a Squib."

"Was she disowned as well then? I didn't know," Filius said, surprise clear in his expression.

"No, the Black's know how to value a bright spinster. Though her entire childhood was spent with her brother's fate resting on the conditions of her good behavior and family loyalty. She moved to France after Hogwarts and hasn't been back much… until now."

"And she came back just to check on Dorea's grandchild? Out of the kindness of her heart? Forgive me, I do find that a bit unbelievable."

Isla shrugged, standing from the table. "Cassiopeia didn't come back for Harry Potter alone, but she considers the child hers to be concerned for. If you don't believe me, at least think on what I've said and reserve your final decision until after you read Friday's paper."

She curtsied prettily towards her host, and stepped towards the portrait hole. "I can walk myself down. Thank you for hosting tea today, Filius, it was truly a pleasure to see you again after all this time. As a final farewell, one more piece of information for you to consider: Sirius Black was not interrogated, nor was he given a trial."

Filius Flitwick sat staring after her in shock for a very long time after she'd disappeared into the corridor.

* * *

_November 16, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

Filius Flitwick cast a silencing charm the second he stepped into his fellow professor's office.

"Minerva, I've been thinking on what you told me about the people Albus left the Potter boy with. We need to talk."


	13. Fittings & Formalities

_November 18, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

Helen would never admit it, but having a French seamstress designing her an entirely custom wardrobe for the wizarding world was quite possibly the highlight of her 30's.

"Your niece has ze most wonderful figure, Madame Black- it iz a pity she is short."

Well, maybe not.

"She has research, she doesn't need _height_ Abrielle." Cassiopeia had taken to reminding everyone else in the room that her niece-in-law did, in fact, appreciate good research at the most arbitrary moments. The peculiar new conversation point rendered Daniel into furious giggling every time, leading to Helen's elbow accidentally connecting with his ribs… repeatedly.

"Ze first two robes are complete, and I will have ze rest finished by ze first of December." With a wide wave of her wand, the seamstress sent measuring tapes, pins, and bolts of fabric flying back into a deceptively small carpet bag. "I will return for ze final fitting of ze funeral ensemble on ze morning of, oui?"

"And my nephew's wardrobe?"

"It will be owled to you by tomorrow. Men are much simpler creatures to dress, are zey not?"

Cassiopeia glanced towards her house elf consideringly. "I don't suppose I'd know. Very well, Abrielle, thank you for your time. Once the final deliveries are made, please owl the final invoices."

After the seamstress had disappeared through the Floo, Helen collapsed backwards onto the high bed of the lilac bedroom turned fitting room. "Goodness, Cassiopeia, I can't imagine how much you've spent on us already."

Cassiopeia chuckled from her seat near the window. "Oh, nothing compared to how much value I place on making the right impression. You can thank Marius for Granger Corp's donations to the family accounts if you'd like."

"It still blows my mind that your muggle-hating family was so willing to take muggle money."

Cassiopeia shrugged. "Gold sings to the Blacks- besides, I'm sure in some roundabout way my Uncle who initially approved the plan saw it as besting the muggles within their own economy."

"If you don't mind me asking… Marius has explained some of the more extreme views that your relatives have regarding non-magical- sorry, muggles. But you've been nothing but polite." Well, polite and eccentric, but some things were best left unsaid. "What makes you different?"

"A fair question. The Black family's reputation for being blood purists isn't an exaggeration- there have been members of the family who promoted legalizing muggle hunting, and obviously several chose the wrong side of the recent Blood War." Cassiopeia paused, watching Helen's expression closely as if checking for any sign of fainting.

"We can't understand our present without learning about our past. It is important to remember that muggles and wizards have a rather long history- much longer than any silly blood war. It's also important to remember that what that history looks like differs in every part of the world. You can tell by the interactions magic and muggle people have in different places today- for example, native tribes in South America have muggles and magicals living side by side in a peaceful symbiotic relationship. Their enemies were foreigners, not one another, and so today they retain a peaceful accord. In the colonies, the Puritans were strongly anti-magic and they sought to destroy anyone who had it- including the original people of the land. In Britain, there is a rich history of the people picking and choosing which magicals they would love, often to their own misfortune."

"Like the legends of Merlin and Morganna?" Helen asked thoughtfully.

"Precisely. One loved and revered, the other detested and feared."

"I always thought gender played rather heavily into that."

"Of course it did- in addition to picking and choosing who they want to persecute, British muggles also have a rather embarrassing history of violently disposing of outspoken women."

"You mean the witch hunts, don't you? Is that why the Black family hates muggles?"

"Merely the tip of the iceberg. The Black family arrived in Britain from Rome after the empire's collapse in the 400's. They were extremely wealthy- blacksmithing was practically a position of royalty in those times- and magically powerful to boot. The collapsed empire they left behind had been led by open magic practitioners, and they expected to receive the same respect they had at their old home. For some time it was ok- magic was appreciated by muggles in most places, and apprenticeships were easy enough to obtain. In those days no one was put off by the blood magic or rituals that we label Dark today, and so the Black family lived in harmony with all their neighbors, magical and muggle alike. But then muggle culture began to shift- rapidly.

"There were kings who feared certain kinds of magic, and they persecuted those who practiced it- therein lies the true story of Merlin and Morganna. There were muggles who were jealous, or angry at their neighbors, and who lashed out against all magic in response. Take your witch hunts as an extreme example. Trained witches and wizards could escape easily, but untrained muggleborns? Horrific result. And the muggles accused falsely? They never had a chance. It was proven over and over again that muggle culture had shifted away from embracing the old ways and towards hating anything remotely different from the so called 'norm'."

Helen looked thoughtful. "When you put it that way, it seems the Black family dislikes muggles for the same reason that we despair of some of our own history- people in power often didn't accept change or scientific advancement because the ideas were different, just like magic was different. The discovery that the earth is round, or the realization that the earth orbits the sun- both were met with a lot of angry protests."

A brief nod. "Likely a fair assessment. The family resented being forced into hiding by the International Statute of Secrecy that was signed after several magical schools came under attack by muggles during the height of the witch hunts, and as time has gone on that resentment has turned to a sense of superiority as well: the muggles cannot accept the most fantastic parts of this world, and so they do not deserve it. The muggles betrayed their tentative connection to the magical world, and we will now keep it from them."

Helen sat up on the bed, pulling her legs underneath of her as she traced the floral pattern on the lilac comforter. There was a brief silence as she considered Cassiopeia's statement, then, "But shouldn't muggleborns be more revered for leaving their muggle roots? Also, this is 1981! We're a modern society, built on science and discovery. Why do you all assume we'd remain so adverse to magic?"

"I'd counter that muggles still have a long way to go before they start treating people who are different from themselves as equal- there are plenty examples outside of magic of muggles buggering things up because of their fear of the unknown- but the fact is that regardless of muggles ability to accept magic today, much of the wizarding world has become comfortably complacent. Comfortable with operating outside of muggle laws, and with preserving our own traditions- which vary greatly from muggle traditions." Cassiopeia looked briefly divided before adding, "Britain is a bit of a severe example of this."

"It's rather like a knotted ball of yarn."

"No, just politics- most political groups will switch sides of the spectrum at least once a century, and there are many centuries of flip flopping to recount in magical-muggle relations."

"So the 'Sacred 28'- they're strongly opposed to muggles because they want to keep feeling safe and superior, and they don't want anything to be changed or ruined by muggleborns who bring along their own ideas and culture?"

"Quite the tidy summary, that, and fairly accurate too. There's a bit more to the different factions within the Sacred 28, and among other old wizarding families a bit less pure, but I'd like you to read the copy of _Lines and Where the Wizengamot Draws Them_ that Pip gave you before we continue that particular conversation."

Helen had about three dozen more immediate questions but was well aware that in the next hour she was supposed to be flooing back to pick Hermione up from her grandmother. So instead, "You've not answered my original question- why you yourself aren't prejudiced."

"Oh my dear, I most certainly am." Cassiopeia laughed aloud at Helen's sudden shock. "Anyone who tells you they are totally free of prejudice is almost certainly lying, whether they realize it about themselves or not. It's basic human nature amongst wizards and muggles alike, I'm afraid."

"But, if you hate muggles-,"

"I never said I hate muggles, just acknowledged that I'm prejudiced. Acknowledgement is, I believe, the key to positive progress. But my dear girl, your original question was not why I am not prejudiced- it was why my views differ from those of my family."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand." Helen's mind whirled as she tried to keep up with the older woman.

"I've explained the basis for a majority of my family's animosity towards muggles and muggleborns so that you can understand the true differences between what my cousins believe and what I do. Pip! A white board, if you would."

Pip popped into the room with a much smaller version of Cassiopeia's normal caseboard, a white board on spindly legs with oversized wheels. "Missy is needing to be coming to the parlor for tea soon."

"Yes, yes. Soon as we're done Pip." Cassiopeia agreed easily before waving her wand to make a black line divide the whiteboard in half. At the top of one side appeared "Traditional Blacks" in dark green, and on the other side appeared "Cassiopeia Black" in blue.

"I am, first and foremost, a scientist. I appreciate that there are things that muggles have the time, resources, and desire to research that wizards do not. On the other hand, a majority of my family are business people with very little respect for muggle paper currency." A jab of Cassiopeia's wand wrote _scientist_ on one side of the board and _entrepreneur_ on the other.

"Secondly, my family has had no exposure to muggles other than cautionary tales, while I have interacted with Marius and his family my whole life." _Brother_ and _monster stories_ appeared on the board.

"Thirdly, I am pragmatic enough to see a use for muggles and muggleborns in our society that my cousins, without having it spelled out for them, simply cannot. They're a tad volatile and close-minded unless you come at them with a nutcracker." _Pragmatic_ and _close minded_ were scrawled onto the lists.

"Finally, and likely most importantly- I've left Britain. I haven't been at home in London for decades, and living in British pureblood society is a bit like living in an overbearingly stuffy bubble. Here in France they've done a much better job at integrating muggle advancements with traditional wizarding culture- in fact, the new research and advancements have bolstered some wizarding traditions, and wizarding culture has flowed out towards the relatives of muggleborns as well. But in Britain, I believe the firm resistance to respecting multiple cultures side by side makes people feel particularly unpleasant towards one another."

Helen watched as _France_ and _Britain_ appeared on the board, sitting still in thoughtful silence as she considered the implications of Cassiopeia's explanation. "What prejudices do you still have?" she finally asked, but what she really meant was, " _How will this affect my daughter?"_

Cassiopeia hopped to her feet and grinned. "Well, first of all, I can't help but expect all muggles to age poorly."

Tension shattered, Helen snickered. "I heard Marius complaining that he has more forehead wrinkles than you do."

"He's going to be absolutely green when he meets Melania then!"

The two women headed downstairs side by side, pausing before they split ways- Helen for the Floo, and Cassiopeia for her late tea.

"Pip will be by to pick you and Hermione up tomorrow at noon- she's already taken you to pick out your family heirloom for display? Or is that next?"

Helen held out her wrist, shaking it to make the charms on a thick silver bracelet clang together. "I feel a bit like a little girl wearing it, but when I saw the massive watch that Daniel was being told to carry around I didn't mind half as much."

Bemused, Cassiopeia glanced towards the parlor doors. "Did Pip not let you pick your own?"

With a sudden _crack!_ the house elf popped into existence. She wrinkled her nose into an expression much too condescending for a self-respecting house elf (which, of course, Pip was not). "Pip is being the one choosing for the family's own good. And Pip is reminding missy that she is now being _late_ for tea!"

"Oh Pip- do allow them some autonomy, would you?" Cassiopeia sighed. "Helen, I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. I hope you're prepared to storm a castle."

Witch and house elf disappeared behind the closed parlor door, leaving Helen staring after them warily. "Pardon?"

* * *

Cassiopeia settled into a black velvet bergere chair in the parlor, eyeing the tea setup and noting that Pip had taken away the biscuits in protest of her mistress's disregard for the schedule before smiling at her guest. "Narcissa, I'm so glad you owled."

"I appreciate your quick invitation, Aunt." Narcissa Malfoy smiled, her tight smile the only indication she resented having been kept waiting for nearly half an hour.

Cassiopeia waved one hand airily as she loaded a hot scone onto her plate. "I've made a promise to the family. And you do appear to have come on family business. What are you going to ask me for, niece?"

Narcissa paused with her teacup halfway to her mouth. "Well. You certainly are as blunt as Father claimed, aren't you?"

"When it serves," Cassiopeia shrugged, "Though I would be the first to admit hunger sharpens my tongue. Your request?"

Sighing loudly, Narcissa set down her cup entirely and crossed one long leg over the other. "I do believe I met your heir."

Cassiopeia's left eyebrow arched skeptically.

"Hermione?"

The right brow joined the second in surprise for a brief moment before Cassiopeia schooled her face into a neutral expression.

"I'd love to know how long you've been planning this- she looks shockingly like Bella."

"I find myself curious where you'd have come across her," Cassiopeia murmured, mind whirling. It wasn't time for the Grangers' existence to be announced to the family, and she would not have her tentative plans for Narcissa's involvement with Hermione's schooling jeopardized. Were memory charms on family members conscionable?

"The bookshop in Diagon Alley- her mother needed recommendations, and I was only too happy to help another witch encourage their child's education."

Another… another _witch_? Opportunity was knocking. "The curls gave it away, I suppose?"

"Well, the curls and the reference to _Aunt Cassie_ ," Narcissa's lips twitched into a smirk. "How long ago did you do the blood adoption? How long have you been planning this?"

"Suffice to say, the child was born with my blood." _Technically_ true.

"The mother seemed properly respectful- is the father of the same good blood quality?"

"Oh, even better stock." At least in any Black's eyes- after all, Daniel was a Black even if he was a muggle. Helen didn't even have that much going for her- but at least Pip wouldn't have to worry any longer about Helen having bad public manners.

"I expect I'll get along with the mother handsomely, if our first interaction is any clue." Narcissa's smile was genuine. "When will you introduce us formally?"

Never suddenly felt like an appealing option, but Cassiopeia managed a broad smile and a, "Quite soon- after Orion's funeral. Which reminds me, niece. I do need something from you."

If Narcissa was surprised that Cassiopeia was making a demand of her when Narcissa clearly had information that the older woman did not want shared, she gave no sign of it. "Oh?"

"I'd like you to begin reconciling with your sister and ensure her attendance at the funeral."

"My sister is in Azkaban," Narcissa said very slowly, as if to her young son.

"Wrong sister."

Stiffening obviously, "I have no other sister."

"The family tree would beg to differ- and I assure you, I have _very_ intimate knowledge of what is on the family tree after the past week."

"Andromeda was disowned-,"

"Andromeda will be brought back into the family for the same reason that Arcturus was removed as head- it is the only way the Black name will carry on." Cassiopeia's tone brooked no arguments. "You must convince her to forgive us."

" _Her_? Forgive _us_?" Instantly, Narcissa transformed from poised society aristocrat to spoiled youngest child. " _She_ left _us_! She betrayed the family!"

"How so?"

"She had _one_ job! Marry Nott! But she threw over all of Father's plans for a mudblood with nice hair. It was humiliating- they teased me mercilessly before Lucius and I started courting. You can't imagine what it was like."

Cassiopeia leaned across the table and sat her hand on Narcissa's knee in a rare moment of physical empathy. "My twin brother was a squib. I imagine I can guess exactly what it was like."

Narcissa sniffled into her teacup.

"I understand you must have felt betrayed at the time- but really, do you blame her for going out of her way to avoid marrying a man who went to school with her _grandfather_? It's like your Father wanted her to rebel, honestly."

"She didn't even say goodbye."

"Maybe that's what the two of you could start with then."

"Bella's definitely tried to murder her at least three times."

"Well, you aren't Bella, and Bella is being publicly declared impaired this week."

"I doubt she's willing to speak to any of us."

Retracting her hand, Cassiopeia sat upright in her chair and channeled a bit of the family magic that was always lurking at the back of her mind since she'd become materfamilias. "Narcissa, you will make your relationship with your sister right. That's a direct order from the head of your family."

Narcissa shuddered, and took several long, deep breaths as she willed the pressure of the old magic to become breathable. By the time she looked up from her lap, she was once again the composed Malfoy socialite. "As you wish. In return, I request that the new heir be brought to dinner at Malfoy Manor in the week following your announcement."

Cassiopeia smiled and reached for another scone. "Plan for her mother to join us as well."

In a for a knut, in for a galleon, right?


	14. Uninvited

_November 19, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

At 10 am sharp, Pip slid off of her tiny chair by the window and dove into Mistress Cassiopeia's wardrobe with gleeful abandon. Black and silver for family heritage? Deep purple for implied power? Or mint green with gold trim to suit Pip's personal taste?

It was hard to determine what outfit was most appropriate for showing up at the British Ministry of Magic and demanding an audience with the new Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Missy must be wearing the mint," Pip finally squeaked, levitating the heavy velvet over robes into the main bedroom.

Cassiopeia glanced up from where she sat writing responses to the day's mail, glancing from her elf to the chosen robes. "Matters of wardrobe are best left in your hands I suppose. Say, will those match the Black locket?"

Pip's eye twitched at the mention of the heavy, ornate gold heirloom in the shape of the family crest. "No, Missy Cassiopeia, it will not be matching. Pip will find something else." _Anything_ else was left unsaid.

Hiding her amusement, Cassiopeia returned to her letter. "Oh, dear. I'm not quite sure how to respond to Callidora now that St. Mungo's publicly declared the Longbottom's beyond their help."

Pip paused her rummaging through the large jewelry box to squint at her Mistress. "Missy is feeling?"

"Sad for her, I do believe, and maybe a tad anxious that she's almost certainly now pinning all of her hopes on our ability to help her." A heavy sigh. "Best tell her we're planning to take them on shortly- when are we planning to take them on again, Pip?"

"Missy's calendar is having 'confiscate Longbottoms' on next Friday at 2 pm."

"Oh, yes, in time for the Saturday morning paper. My, it really is exhausting being such an active part of one's own project, Pip."

Pip watched as her Mistress signed, sealed, and stamped the final letter. "Is Missy needing a Pepper Up potion?"

"What? Oh, no Pip, not quite yet. We can save the false energy for when I need it- right now I'm still quite enthusiastic to begin seeing initial results." Cassiopeia smiled at her concerned elf before standing and walking towards the outfit Pip had set out for her. "Onto the rest of our day then, shall we?"

Unconvinced, Pip kept a sharp eye on her Mistress as she helped her dress and pinned her long dark curls under a matching mint pillbox hat with a caladrius feather poking from the back. Was that a new wrinkle? No, just a crease from leaning on her palm as she wrote. Did Mistress Cassiopeia seem pale? Well, it was winter.

"Pip, honestly, you're being entirely broody today!" Cassiopeia finally exclaimed as the house elf shoved a seventh cup of tea into her hands. "I swear to Morganna that I'm fine."

Pip's expression was enough to convey the elf's complete lack of confidence in her mistress's ability to self-diagnose. " _Pip_ will be determining that."

* * *

_November 19, 1981_

_Ministry of Magic, London_

Amelia Bones was having one hell of a year.

It had begun the previous Christmas, when over forty Death Eaters descended on the Bones family manor. Amelia had escaped with her young niece, but by the time she returned with reinforcements; her parents, her brothers, and their wives had been systematically and horrifically massacred. Despite Dumbledore's assurances, Amelia took no comfort in the twenty seven equally dead Death Eaters found at the scene- the Bones family was nearly wiped out, and survivor's guilt was a terrible burden.

Almost as heavy a burden was her sudden responsibility as foster parent. Susan, barely one, was an easy enough baby but children were not a part of Amelia's original career plan. Now she had a confused toddler, a lot of grief, and an extremely demanding job to juggle all at once- Bartemius Crouch extended little sympathy for her situation, suggesting that dedication to revenge would be more fulfilling than personal leave to get her affairs in order.

The subsequent struggle to find a nanny, discover a work life balance, and continue to fight against what she was quite certain was pure evil- she could never forget the sound of Bellatrix Black's scream of laughter as the marked Death Eater fled the Bones property- made days and weeks and months fairly tumble together in a chaotic yarn ball.

And then Barty Jr. stood trial.

Amelia couldn't forgive the younger man for his horrible transgressions against the Longbottoms, but she could imagine his clear insanity (that violent twitch! The foam at his mouth! That horrible, horrible laughter!) was directly tied to his father's baleful parenting style and constant refrain that nothing would ever be good enough. Crouch being forced to step down from his position as Head of the DMLE was the silver lining she'd needed after the whole scandal.

Until they had named her the new head, anyways.

"Pardon?" she had asked faintly, juggling baby Susan on one hip as she stared at Minister Bagnold's face in the floo.

"I've named you the new department Head- Amelia, we need someone with your strength of character and understanding to complete convictions and be the face of the new DMLE."

"So you want me to be your poster child?"

Minister Bagnold snorted. "I don't need another poster child- that missing Potter boy is enough of one for the entire country. But I do need a leader. Someone who has proven themselves during the war, and who the people won't feel fear of betrayal from after this Crouch disaster. I need someone who can keep order efficiently, and keep it from getting out of the ministry what an absolute state of chaos we're still in. And frankly, Amelia, there's no one I'd rather rely on than you."

Amelia had hesitated, smoothing Susan's tufted red hair anxiously. "Are you sure you aren't just giving me this position because I-."

"Because you saved my life? Of course it has something to do with that- very few people would think to transfigure a stone wall in front of a killing curse. And that is the kind of quick thinking the whole of wizarding Britain needs right now."

She'd agreed- grudgingly, because honestly the job hadn't been her Number One Dream for months now- and suddenly she had a huge office, a wary team of aurors and hit wizards looking to her for direction, and a tiny niece toddling around the office (because honestly, nannies were wonderful but she and Susan needed each other quite badly).

In the short week she'd been the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, she'd been focusing on clearing up the paperwork nightmare that Crouch had left for her, on retraining programs for her teams (who needed to shift their focus from a war to normal criminals), and on trying to keep Susan from eating anything she shouldn't (like Mad Eye's eye when it popped out, or Scrigemour's lunch, or Robard's shoe laces). It was exhausting, and mind numbing, and frustrating: each day she realized another member of her team had been bribed at some point during the war, and that procedure had been ignored on another case, and her to do list kept growing and growing and-

"Madam Bones, security sent a zoomer up that your 1 o'clock appointment has arrived early and is on their way up." Scrimgeour popped his shaggy mane back out of the room before Amelia could even begin to protest. An appointment? When did she agree to that? Morgana, it was past time to hire a secretary.

Glancing to make sure Susan was still napping on her office couch, Amelia hurried towards her door with a frown firmly in place. A tentative head peaked out revealed the normal chaos of her department- aurors with bounding patronus messengers, whirling airplane memos, screeching criminals being tackled by exasperated hit wizards…. And, at the center of it all, a lift was dinging.

Amelia's eyes brushed over the two women who stepped out first- surely she would recognize anyone she'd made an appointment with? But when no one else emerged, she narrowed her eyes to study the pair more closely.

Second glance revealed that the younger of the pair was carrying a child- not much older than Susan, if Amelia had to guess. The woman- the mother, based on the strong resemblance- had such striking features that Amelia was fairly certain she'd have remembered meeting her before. Foreign? Someone who hadn't attended Hogwarts and had been home schooled perhaps?

It was the older of the pair that Amelia thought seemed vaguely familiar. Something about the dark curls, or the curiously stiff posture, that sparked a sense of unease in Amelia's gut. But it wasn't until she saw the eyes- those horrible, horrible family eyes- that recognition hit.

The woman was a Black.

"Madam Bones, thank you for agreeing to see us." The woman's voice was not at all comparable to Bellatrix's sickly sweet baby coo, but Amelia felt no more welcoming for it.

"I've not agreed to any appointments today- you must be confused. I'd thank you for leaving at once."

"Come now Madam Bones, we've not made a _short_ journey to see you- surely you can spare five minutes for us?"

"I've no time for one of you," Amelia hissed- knowing it was unprofessional, and unable to stop herself from it.

"Angry lady," the little girl stage whispered, and the wide eyed younger woman jostled the child on her hip so she was half shielded.

"Please Madam. I've only come to request that-,"

"I will take no request from a Black! I will not pardon your monstrous kin of their sins- if I could, I'd have them kissed!" A small crowd of aurors turned sharply at this, and Amelia felt her professionalism slipping further from her control. "Good day."

Before she could fully turn on her heel and slam the door, the woman was raising her voice so it carried throughout the entire department. "Madam Bones. My name is Cassiopeia Black, and I have recently taken over as Head of the Black family. I am here today to report the murder of Orion Black by his wife, to explain what will happen to one of your prisoners when I renounce her from the family magic, and to give you information about Sirius Black."

Conflict warring within, Amelia slowly turned back around, taking in the entirety of her department. Half of them appeared shocked, half of them outraged, and all of them desperately curious. She wouldn't be able to simply dismiss these unwanted visitors now- it was too late for that. They wouldn't make it out the door without a Very Large Scene and likely either a brawl or a huge bit of rebellion from her teams, who would want to know exactly what the woman meant. "Please come into my office."

* * *

Sitting up from her nap at the sound of voices, little Susan Bones' eyes went straight to Hermione Granger. For a long moment the two toddlers stared at one another seriously- and then Susan smiled and slid off the couch.

Entranced by Cassiopeia's recounting of the murder of Orion Black and his wife's confession, neither Helen Granger or Amelia Bones noticed when their girls slid through a house-elf entrance by the fireplace hand in hand.

* * *

Amelia's mind was reeling. If someone had told her a week ago that she'd be sitting with the new Head of the Black family (and really, how did THAT happen?), she'd have checked them for a mind addling potion. Yet, here they were.

"Do you know where Walburga is currently?" Amelia decided she should at least handle sending an auror team to capture the murderous wife of Orion Black before the conversation went further down a rabbit hole.

Cassiopeia blinked. "Why, of course. She's in my dungeons- I couldn't simply let her go after the family found her guilty. Besides, I wanted to make sure she was in good health to tell you what she knows about Sirius."

Amelia thought about little Lily Evans, several years behind her at Hogwarts but undeterred from seeking help against the boys bullying her best friend. A scowl darkened her features. "Sirius Black has already been tried and sentenced to a life in Azkaban- no further discussion is required for him."

"Actually, no, he wasn't tried."

"What?"

"Sirius Black wasn't tried. He was merely sentenced to life in prison with those soul sucking nightmares."

From Helen, weakly: "Pardon? Did you say soul sucking nightmares?"

From Amelia, who turned to scowl fiercely at a yet unremoved portrait of her predecessor:"Oh, what the bloody hell?"

Cassiopeia patted Helen's shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry dear, nothing for you to worry about here- the dementors are all at Azkaban way off the coast. You've not a chance of meeting one."

"Are you absolutely certain there was no trial?"

"Oh, yes. I've done my research to confirm it."

Torn between her sense of fair play and her strong dislike of the man who had betrayed the Potter family and blown up 13 muggles, Amelia fidgeted in her seat. "He did say it was all his fault when they arrested him- I did read that report after the explosion."

Surprisingly, it was Helen who seemed most upset by this statement. "Explosion? Explosion! Haven't you heard of shock? Or coercion? There's no excuse for not upholding our national laws- everyone is entitled to a trial."

Cassiopeia poorly hid a pleased smile.

"Look, trials are important but in the face of clear guilt-,"

"Define clear guilt."

"What?"

"I said, define clear guilt. Is it circumstantial or solid evidence? Is it hearsay? Is it a medical professional saying, 'He wasn't in shock, his confession is valid'? Is it the end of an in-depth investigation that dots the i's and crosses the t's?" Helen was incensed now. "Denying someone of a fair trial is positively un-British of you, ma'am. Have you even read the Human Rights Act?"

Amelia spluttered, but before she could continue Cassiopeia was jumping in. "His mother- who hates him more than she hated her husband, I might add- doesn't think he could have done it. Not supporting the British Dark Lord was, it seems, the main reason the boy ran away from home. In addition, I've been told by a number of sources that the Potters were Sirius's only family. He's thrown himself in front of dozens of life threatening curses for James in public record- why off the family now?"

"You never know when someone will snap."

"Yes, but you have a court that just pardoned Lucius Malfoy and Thaddeus Nott for acting under the imperious curse throughout the entirety of the war- one would think the court would be interested in investigating this much more shocking behavior from Sirius."

Amelia's thoughts churned. If Sirius Black had been under the imperious curse, she could still hate him but she couldn't allow him to remain imprisoned for life- not when Malfoy and Nott had, she knew firsthand, gotten away with so much worse. However, if he was guilty, then giving him a trial and allowing him to claim it was the imperious curse would be devastating- if guilty, he didn't deserve to walk the streets freely ever again.

But this was her department now, not Crouch's- and in her department, things would be done properly. She had an example to set and a mess to clean up. "I appreciate you bringing this matter to my attention. Sirius Black's investigation will begin after Walburga is taken into custody and she is interrogated."

It would be horribly hard work, making this investigation occur now that the entire public considered the matter cut and dry. But Amelia Bones was a Hufflepuff, and she wasn't about to shy away from hard work.

"I appreciate your honest work," Cassiopeia inclined her head, and Helen beamed. "Now, about Bellatrix-,"

"You cannot convince me to open an investigation on Bellatrix- I testified against her at her trial," Amelia's flat tone did not quite hide the spark of rage that passed through her eyes.

"Oh, no, she's definitely guilty. And mad as a hatter- I only wanted to tell you that I'll be declaring her addled publicly and then revoking her rights to the family magic today."

Amelia sat in surprised silence.

"When her connection to the family magic is blocked, she'll likely cause an uproar- no witch or wizard sits well with feeling so suddenly powerless. However, she'll be much easier to manage thereafter. Bellatrix is an incredibly powerful witch based on what I've been told, but her fighting style draws directly on old Black magic so she'll now have quite the handicap. Additionally, fighting the block will likely take up much of her own magical reserves continuously- that may make her physically weaker as well." Cassiopeia's fingers drummed on her thigh. "Frankly, if she becomes too frail she won't survive Azkaban, but-,"

"The least of my concerns." Amelia's lips twitched briefly. "She did slaughter my family, after all. You'll forgive me for my lack of pity."

Helen gasped softly, while Cassiopeia studied the young department head for a long, quiet moment. Finally: "The Black family owes you a heavy debt, Madam Bones. Despite declaring Bellatrix addled now, we cannot erase her past actions and we are terribly sorry that your family suffered so severely from them. You can call on us in your times of need- once for each of your family members killed."

Amelia shook her head slowly. "While I appreciate your attempt, that does nothing to bring them back."

"No, it doesn't. It won't help you or your niece heal- but it may make things easier going forward, and that is the most I can do now." Cassiopeia maintained eye contact for just long enough that Amelia felt like she was missing something important, then smiled. "Now, we did promise not to take up too much of your time, so let's get Walburga into your more capable hands now shall we? Pip!"

With a sharp crack! Pip popped into existence, prisoner in tow.

"How did you get through the ministry wards?" Amelia demanded.

"Oh good, you brought her." Cassiopeia threw one hand into the air to gesture at her unconscious, bound niece. "She's all yours Amelia."

"Missy Cassiopeia-,"

"Oh lovely, she's not dead is she?" Amelia eyed Walburga's prone form warily.

"Missy Cassiopeia-,"

"Of course not- I do at least believe in proper prisoner management." Cassiopeia sniffed.

" _Missy Cassiopeia!_ "

All three women turned to stare at the little elf in surprise. "Yes, Pip?"

"Missy Cassiopeia, where is the little missy Hermione?" Pip asked urgently, wringing her ears as she stared around the room as if expecting the little girl to float down from the ceiling.

Helen jumped to her feet, rushing to look behind the couch and shelves to no avail- there wasn't a toddler in the room. "I don't see either of the girls! But the door- it's still closed!"

Amelia's face turned white. "Susan!


	15. Biscuits

_November 19, 1981_

_Ministry of Magic, London_

Helen Granger had been quite proud of herself for keeping her cool when, at noon on the head, Pip had appeared in her living room. She'd even managed to breathe when (after reloading the diaper bag into a much smaller leather purse and pursing her lips at their wizarding attire) the little creature _poofed!_ them away to London.

She'd not even been ill- good thing, too, as Hermione looked like she was having the time of her life and it would be unfortunate to be out-traveled by one's own toddler.

Helen had bravely handled the descent through the telephone booth (though she pitied the muggle who accidentally dialed _that_ particular extension) as well as the terrifying creature operating the lift. She was particularly proud of herself for keeping her back straight and playing her part when Cassiopeia was demanding an audience with Madam Bones.

Her child going missing, however…. Well. Panic was probably putting it lightly.

"I will tear this whole building apart with my _bare hands_ if someone doesn't _bring me my daughter this instant!_ "

On the bright side, she wasn't panicking alone.

"Call in Moody! Call in Kingsley! Call in _every auror on staff_! I want you all looking for Susan! Did you hear me? Get your sorry arses _moving_!"

Finally convinced that her daughter wasn't playing hide-and-seek somewhere in the office, Helen's frantic gaze settled on Cassiopeia. "Why are you just sitting there? _Do something_! This is your _great-niece_ who is missing!"

Cassiopeia, who had indeed remained seated as she watched the two younger women frantically searching under bookshelves and couch cushions, sighed loudly and glanced towards Pip. "Pip?"

"Yes, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"I do believe this is the perfect time for a new experiment. Follow the glow, could you please?" As Cassiopeia spoke, she laid one hand flat across her chest, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She slowly drew her hand away from her body, a tiny ball of bluebell flames emerging to float on its own accord before the family head.

Helen flinched away from the irregular flames in the air, but Pip gasped in recognition. The elf stared reverently at the glowing little bluebell ball that represented Cassiopeia's familial connection to her great niece. "Yes, mistress."

Without a backward glance at the frantic aunt and mother tearing up the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Pip followed the glowing ball into the unnoticed house elf entrance by the fireplace.

* * *

When Arthur Weasley had agreed to take the only healthy members of his brood to work while Molly nursed the rest, he'd somehow not realized it was his troublemaking twins who had avoided the flu.

Well, at least that explained Molly's shocked expression.

The pair, who had recently taken to referring to one another as Gred and Forge rather than by their actual names, had done well for the first part of the morning. This was mostly because the entire Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Department had cooed over them in delight, sending them back and forth with memos. By the second half of the morning, however, Arthur was experiencing first hand what damage a pair of five year olds could do to the ministry.

"Erm, Arthur?"

"Yes, Perkins?" Arthur had peered up from a report about cursed sunnies, shaking himself out of a rather vivid daydream about less dangerous glasses and a beach with his wife.

Perkins pointed one trembling finger. "One of your tiny terrors seems to have found a wand. Again."

It was Fred, and of _course_ he had managed to slip Arthur's wand out of his pocket while Arthur was otherwise occupied. Thanking Merlin that at least they hadn't exploded anything, Arthur had hurried to stop the twins from turning random passerby's hair different colors.

"I'll tell you what," he'd offered, plucking the wand from Fred's hand and stooping down to whisper. "If you two make me a super secret detailed map of the department by lunch, I'll take you to my favorite place in the Ministry for pudding."

The beaming faces that his offer had been met with were enough to reinstall some of Arthur's confidence in his ability to survive the day, and a quick set of spells had the twins kitted out with parchment, quills, and ink in a rainbow of colors.

The result, hand delivered to his desk an hour and a half later, had been beyond impressive- every last detail from potted plants to potential escape routes had been noted in a kaleidoscope of hues across the parchment. Even crabby old Perkins has been impressed.

"Wonderfully completed, chaps. I do believe work this well done deserves a bit of a prize, don't you?" With a conspiratorial wink, Arthur had grabbed two tiny hands and guided the boys towards his favorite hideaway in the ministry: the kitchens.

The twins whispered to one another the whole way down, taking in the goblin in the lift ("Pudding time is it, Weasley?"), a discourteous Malfoy on the first floor ("Weasley. Can't afford a normal nanny, can you?"), and two French Veela as they passed the Management of Magical Creatures Department ("Oh! Vat little darlings!"). Arthur smiled and nodded at each person they passed, the crowd thinning rapidly the lower they went.

Finally, the lift arrived in a short deserted hallway where the ceiling was about half the height of those in the rest of the ministry and the doors looked like they'd been made for primary schoolers.

"Quiet now," Arthur cautioned his sons, "We've got to sneak past the guard if we want pudding."

Much to Fred and George's surprise- not to mention delight- Arthur crouched close to the ground, gesturing for the twins to do the same. Three bright red heads snuck down the hallway pressed close against one low wall, inching towards a tall desk in the middle of the corridor. Past it were a set of double doors that Arthur silently indicated was their goal.

The house elf standing guard at the desk had his feet propped up, a paper on his head. Long thin fingers were steepled over barely open eyes, allowing for a crack through which he watched the Weasleys progress. When Arthur winked in his direction, the little elf immediately broke into loud, snorting snores that sent the twins into fits of giggles.

"Shh! You'll wake up the guard." Arthur admonished gently, pinching the back of his hand to restrain his own laughter.

If the elf's snoring sounded a bit more forced after that, neither twin noticed.

"Almost there!" Fred hissed excitedly, "C'mon Gred!"

"Right on Forge!" Came George's slightly too loud return, and Arthur briefly contemplated that this particular pair had certainly inherited the Prewett lungs.

Finally, after much tripping and hissing and giggling, the promised doors were within reach. Arthur rapped one fist against them, twice quickly and thrice slow- the agreed on password.

Except... nothing happened.

Arthur repeated his knock.

The door still didn't open.

Frowning, Arthur wondered briefly if the kitchen staff hadn't been let in on the game. _Ah, well, it lasted while it did._ "Ah! That should have unlocked the door- try it now, boys."

George reached out and tugged the handle down, sending one door flying inward with a loud bang.

Arthur cringed, expecting a horde of house elves to descend upon them with reminders to be "Be _gentle_! Be more gentle!" But there was... nothing?

Oblivious to Fred and George's ooh's and ah's of delight as they stared around the massive kitchen, Arthur frowned and glanced around searchingly for any sign of life. No house elves around the large stone peeling and chopping table. None near the bathtub sized sinks lined up in a row across the back of the room. Not a single house elf cleaning up in the thick wooden rafters...

"Look Da!" Fred frantically tugged his arm, joined only seconds later by his twin. "I see lights!"

Sure enough, firelight was flickering against the shiny surface of the stoves, its source unseen around a corner.

"Best go investigate then- one by one now, boys, right after me." One part of Arthur was unworried- maybe this was an alteration to the tentative script he'd sent down earlier in the morning, or maybe the house elves were conferencing around the fire. But another part of him had been in the middle of a war until very, very recently, and that part drew his wand and held it steadily in front of them as they proceeded through the kitchen.

"I hear laughing, Gred."

"It sounds like _girls_ , Forge."

Straining his ears, Arthur realized he _could_ hear loud giggling coming from around the corner. His wand dropped slightly.

"Oh no Gred! Do you think girls came and ate all the pudding?"

"It'd be a calm-it-ee Forge," was the mournful response, and Arthur (whose worry was now rapidly dissipating) restrained himself from snorting.

"Calamity, is the word I think you wanted there Fred my boy."

"Ca-lamb-it-ee?"

"Spot on Georgie."

Three freckled noses peeked around the corner, followed by three shockingly bright red heads of hair.

Fred and George groaned immediately at the site before them: two little girls were sitting in front of the fire, eating their way through a large basket of biscuits that had been placed between them while the entire house elf staff danced attendance on them.

Arthur (who had been called an oblivious man by his wife more times than he could possibly count) frowned as he noticed the tiny girls' expensive (and now crumb covered) robes, their total lack of resemblance, and the lack of guardians present.

"What would Molly do?" Arthur murmured thoughtfully, thinking of his wife's tendency to bring home stray cats and stray children with equal abandon. "Nothing for it. I'll floo someone if no one comes to find them by the time we're done eating."

"Da," George whispered hesitantly, "Do you think they'd share?"

"I'm sure we can work something out," Arthur said quickly, guessing from the look on Fred's face that he was about to suggest stealing the biscuits instead of coming to an accord. He pulled both boys around the corner with him, nodding to the Head Elf as the small congregation of house elves immediately turned to face them. "Er, hello there."

"Mister Weasley is not telling Poppy he is bringing more children!"

Wait, what?

"Uh, I think there may be a mistake- those two aren't mine." Arthur gestured to the twins beside him with both hands. "These two are."

The Head Elf squinted at him in confusion. "The note is saying that two of Mister Weasley's children is sneakily coming for pudding after lunch. These two children was sneakily coming for pudding."

A murmur of agreement from the other gathered elves.

"We've only got one sister."

"And she's half the size of one of them!"

"Yeah! Those two are Ron sized!"

"Thank you, boys," Arthur murmured as he dropped a restraining hand on each tiny shoulder. Louder, "I do believe there's been some confusion."

The Head Elf squinted, but wouldn't argue with him more than that (he was a very self-respecting elf). Instead, he snapped his fingers twice and a second bench appeared in front of the fire, directly across from the girls. "The little Mister Real-Weasley's is having their pudding now."

Eyes gleaming, Fred and George dove for the bench without a backward glance, completely entranced by the second large basket of biscuits that had appeared on top of it.

The Head Elf glanced at Arthur speculatively. "The little miss not-Weasley does have the same has as Mister Weasley is having."

"Not quite- that's a strawberry blonde right there," Arthur said knowledgeably- in a family of redheads, one became incredibly good at seeing subtle differences in hair color.

The Head Elf spun back around to the little girls, who til now had been quietly distracted by their munching and totally unperturbed by the newest visitors to the kitchen. "Is the little miss not-Weasley's having names?"

The curly headed little one crowed in delight. "Little miss not-Wheezy! Little miss not-Wheezy!"

The Head Elf blinked rapidly at Arthur for assistance, and, grinning, he dropped to one knee before the toddlers. "Hm, that's an awfully big name. Do either of you have any other names?"

"Hermione."

"Susan."

"Those are wonderful names. My name is Arthur, and these two heathens are Fred and George-," the twins made protesting noises through mouthfuls of biscuits-, "and we came for pudding. Were you hungry too?"

From Hermione: "No."

From Susan: "Hungry!"

Arthur chuckled. "You know your stomach, don't you! Do you know how old you are?"

Hermione hesitantly held up her hands, using the left to keep all but two fingers of the right hand closed into a fist. Susan just stared at him.

"Two years old! Bet you're close to that, little lady," Arthur reassured Susan mildly. "And great job Hermione. Do you know who you came to the Ministry with today? Can you tell me who brought you to the kitchen?"

Hermione pointed to Susan. Susan blinked innocently.

Fully aware that a full conversation with a two year old was probably not an option, Arthur considered calling Molly for help for a brief moment before remembering the hoard of sick kids she was already managing back home. No help from that front, then. Instead, he turned back to the Head Elf.

"How did they come in?"

A sharp whistle on the Head Elf's part brought a much smaller elf scurrying over. "Poppy is wanting Mopsy to be explaining where she is finding the little miss not-Weasley's."

Wringing one ear anxiously in her hands, Mopsy squeaked a little whisper under her breath.

"Mopsy must speak up!" Poppy said very firmly, glaring at the quaking elf.

"M-Mopsy was cleaning the elf passages, and Mopsy was finding the little miss not-Weasley's wandering around," came a slightly louder squeak. "Mopsy is knowing that the mister Weasley sent a note about two childrens coming after lunch, and so Mopsy was delivering them to the Head Elf."

Arthur smiled, doing his best to look as non-threatening as possible (not a particularly heavy feat for the gentle father of seven). "I appreciate that information- what department were they closest to when you found them?"

"They was being between the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes." Certain she had no more to offer, Mopsy darted off to hide behind an oven.

"Poppy apologizes to Mister Weasley," the Head Elf glared as she watched Mopsy's feet shaking where they peeked out of the timid elf's hiding spot. "Mopsy is being very nervous around wizards after the war."

Arthur brushed the apology away easily. "Law Enforcement and Accidents and Catastrophes, hm? I suppose I could send a note up to both department heads- or maybe one of you could take one?"

Poppy nodded.

"Lovely. Well, ladies, you finish up your biscuits and then we will get you home."

"But da-,"

"We want to finish ours too!"

Arthur glanced towards his suddenly petulant twins with some surprise. He dropped onto the bench in between them, snagging one of their biscuits. "Boys," Arthur said gravely, "We've a new mission at hand. The Weasley pirate brigade has been hired to protect these two princesses as they sail home to their kingdom. Surely you won't let them down?"

Two nearly identical faces stared at one another fiercely, and for a brief second Arthur worried they'd not take up the game. Then-

"Our ladies, we are at your service!" Fred bowed dramatically at the two younger girls.

"We will protect you 'cross the oceans!" George added, sending cookie crumbs flying with each word.

From Hermione, pleased: "Pirates!"

From Susan, confused: "Pirates?"

"Pirates- your protectors on the sea," Arthur said firmly, and settled into helping the children play pretend while they finished their biscuits.

* * *

Pip was not a fan of tunnels. As a young elfling she had managed to get lost in one of the Black Manor tunnels for three days, not escaping till her frantic mother had finally _snap_!ed for her. The experience had stuck- decades later, Pip didn't even use the much more well ordered tunnels at Chateau Black.

So when her Mistress's ball of bluebell flames led her deeper and deeper into the Ministry of Magic's house elf tunnels, she fairly quickly managed to convince herself that both she and the little missy were going to definitely die.

It didn't matter that the tunnels were clean, and well lit, and clearly frequently traveled. It didn't matter that Pip was now old enough to transport herself and the little missy right back to Cassiopeia. It didn't even matter that, this time, Pip had pockets full of snacks. Nope, death was the only possible outcome, she was certain.

By the time she ran into another elf in the tunnels, she was muttering under her breath and twitching violently.

"Is you being ok?" the Ministry elf asked, looking from anxious Pip to the bluebell flame ball floating in front of her somewhat skeptically.

"Pip is being fine," the decidedly not-fine Black house elf snapped, "Pip is needing to follow the glow to find her little missy!"

The Ministry elf looked first hesitant, then resigned. "Jolly is coming with you, then."

"Pip is saying she is being fine!" Pip protested, but a little of her anxious twitching slowed, and after a long moment she dropped her eyes and held out one hand to the other elf. "If Jolly is insisting on coming, he can at least hold Pip's hand."

Bemused now, Jolly took her hand easily and the pair headed back along the glowing orb. "It is looking like it is going to the kitchens."

Pip glanced at him sideways. "You is for sure knowing how to get out of the tunnels?"

Affronted, Jolly nodded violently. "Of course! Jolly is growing up in the Ministry tunnels- it is where we Ministry elves is being allowed to have lockers and family dens."

Pip couldn't quite imagine long-term tunnel living, but a life spent censoring her mistress's ruder off-hand comments kept her from questioning the Ministry elf aloud.

Jolly's guess proved to be accurate when they finally emerged from the tunnel and into a massive kitchen that Pip was fairly certain belonged in a castle. Pip's relief turned her knees into jelly, and it was a long moment before she dropped Jolly's warm hand.

Jolly shot her another look out of the corner of one eye, saying only, "We is needing to keep following it to be finding your little missy, right?"

The floating bluebell flames led them across the quiet kitchen, round the back of the cupboard, past the ovens, and towards the fireplace, where-

" _What_ is you doing with my little missy?"

Pip's shriek of outrage sent the two red-headed little boys who had been dancing around Hermione falling over in surprise. "Da!" two little voices wailed.

"Oh dear," murmured the man sitting at the fire with them, "This is going to end poorly, isn't?"

"How dare you steal Pip's little missy!" Pip cried, taking off at a run towards the fireplace. If it had been her kitchen, she'd have found a rolling pin to aide her attack. However, Pip was a very polite (if not very self-respecting) house elf, and borrowing a rolling pin without permission would be quite the social faux pas.

Alarmed, the man hopped in front of the four children by the fire with his wand out. "Now then, let's be sensible and- OOF!"

Pip hit his knees like a wrecking ball- he dropped.

"For da!"

"For the princesses!"

"For the love of pirating!"

Before Pip could recover from the daze her tackle had left her in, the two younger monsters were upon her.

"No!" Hermione said, clearly distressed, and Susan began wailing behind her. Pip was too busy to calm her, jumping around to evade the terror twins' gripping her ears.

"NO!" Hermione repeated at a scream and everyone froze.

"No," one last time, now calm as she surveyed the unexpected result of her screaming. "Friends. Friends, friends, friends."

Unable to actually move, Pip watched the little missy point to each of them. Her doubt couldn't show through to her expression, but it was there all the same.

"There is being no more brawling in Poppy's kitchen!"

Unaffected by the sudden burst of accidental magic, the Head Elf of the Ministry of Magic slammed one foot onto the ground and everyone instantly regained control of their limbs and tongues. "Poppy is wanting to know who you is being, starting fights in Poppy's kitchen!"

Pip stood up straight, sliding away from her assailants without a backward glance. "I is Pip, and I is Cassiopeia Black's elf."

"Oh Merlin," the man muttered from his not-exactly comfortable spot on the ground.

"Pip is searching for her missing little Missy." Pip sent Jolly a grateful look for his interference. "Pip was following that light."

Everyone in the room turned to stare at the bright ball of bluebell flames hovering directly over Hermione's head.

"And why is Pip losing a little missy?" Poppy demanded, determined to find fault with the intrusive outsider elf.

"Pip is not- Pip's mistress's niece is losing her little missy. Pip is just noticing, and being sent to collect her. And Pip is finding who stole her!" A long, accusatory finger was pointed at the man and his closely gathered sons.

"Hold on there. I think some things are confused, so how about we clear them up before we go throwing accusations around? My name is Arthur Weasley, and these are my sons Fred and George. These two little girls were mistaken as being mine and brought down for pudding when they were found in the elf tunnels- it was an honest mistake. After their snack, I was all set to go about finding who they belonged to."

Sense of propriety forgotten in the face of a spinning head and protective instincts, Pip scowled. "Pip is not knowing if you is telling the truth or not."

Poppy let out a gusty sigh. "Pip is being _paranoid_. Poppy will confirm this story."

"Pip is not knowing if Poppy is-,"

"Pip is not going to insult a Ministry Head Elf, is Pip?" Jolly's frantic whisper cut Pip's complaint off.

Still frowning, Pip turned to Hermione and Susan. "Little missies should not be running into tunnels! Tunnels is being dangerous, and little missies deserve swats more than biscuits!"

"All's well that ends well, right?" Arthur asked, smiling encouragingly at the toddlers. "No harm done this time. Can we escort you back upstairs, or would you prefer to take the tunnels?"

"We've got to escort them!"

"Yeah! It's our job Da!"

Pip gulped. "Pip would not want to ruin the small heathens' game."

"Pirates!" Susan insisted, and Arthur laughed aloud as he stood up to lead the way.

* * *

"I dare say these two have made fast friends- wonderful result, I'd say."

Amelia scowled at Cassiopeia, clutching Susan more tightly to her chest. Beside her, Helen looked equally unamused.

"The children were missing for an hour, Aunt Cassie."

"And now they're both better fed, better educated, and have a friend- much better than kidnapping, or getting stuck in the tunnels, or-,"

"Ok! Pip is escorting Missy Cassiopeia and her family home now!" Pip jumped in quickly, prodding Helen to her feet with long, thin fingers.

"I trust you'll let me know if you need more information about Bellatrix, Walburga, or Sirius? I'm happy to have anyone in the family come in for a formal interview, if you prefer." Cassiopeia smiled cheerfully as her house elf tugged her towards the office door.

"Of course," Amelia bit out, sharing one last irritated look with Helen Granger before the younger woman disappeared from view.

"Well then, thank you again for your time. I'm sure we'll see you again soon."

Amelia slammed the door, sliding down the couch and crushing Susan to her side. She, for one, certainly hoped to never see the crazy new Black family head again. However….

Glancing down at her niece, Amelia sighed. She'd do anything for the last remaining member of her family. Even tolerate the Blacks.

But that was a worry for later- for now, it seemed, there was quite a lot of work to do.


	16. Interview

_November 18, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

"Well you certainly managed to ruffle Narcissa's feathers."

Cassiopeia smiled benignly at her cousin's wife. "Oh?"

"You're absolutely horrid at playing coy, so save us both the theatrics." Melania snorted into her tea, crossing one dainty ankle over the other. "She flooed me in a right snit, asking if I was absolutely certain there was no way to take back her vote."

"Morganna!" Cassiopia's eyes opened wide and she stared at her final guest of the day with mild concern. "Did Cygnus teach his children nothing of how the old magic works? If she tried to take back her vote-,"

"Yes, yes, I know- burnt alive. Do be a dear and don't go on a tangent about it." Melania waved away the idea with little concern. "I only mention it because I worried she'd interfere with your plans this week."

Cassiopeia frowned thoughtfully. "I'm sure she could interfere in a dozen different plots- could you be more specific?"

Glancing up at the vaulted parlor ceiling as if it might provide her with the patience she dearly needed to survive the evening, Melania restrained an impolite sigh. "The interview, Cassiopeia. The interview that you asked me to join you for? The interview that Isla Calderon invaded my manor at tea time today to give me response advice for?"

"Oh, you had tea with Isla today? Delightful- did you tell her what your secret for such smooth skin is?"

Very dryly: "I can't say the topic came up."

"Ah, well. Maybe next time- though really, it'd be quite the interesting experiment to see-,"

"Cassiopeia. The interview, if you wouldn't mind. Will Narcissa present an issue?"

A bit huffy at the interruption of a potentially lucrative new bit of potions research, Cassiopeia slumped down into her seat (if her mother had been alive to see, she'd have been in a metal corset for weeks). "Pip?"

The little elf nodded gravely from her post behind her mistress. "Missy Cassiopeia's great niece is presenting many issues."

Melania's eyebrows rose sharply. "You'd let your elf say-,"

Cassiopeia's snort of laughter cut off her complaint. "I only meant for the interview, Pip. But a fair enough point all the same. No, Melania, I don't think you need to worry- Narcrissa will almost definitely attempt to get back at me for the task I've set her to, but it's nothing we can't handle."

* * *

_November 19, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

Cassiopeia shrugged the heavy mint robes off her shoulders, reaching for the new set that Pip offered in their stead.

"I ought to wear the locket, don't you think Pip?"

Pip scowled through a mouthful of hair pins. "Pip is picking a very lovely Black family brooch to be wearing for the interview, so Mistress is not needing the family locket."

Cassiopeia grinned, easing herself down onto the padded stool in front of her vanity. "It'd certainly make a statement, you have to admit."

"Pip is only admitting that it would be saying that she is failing her mistress entirely," came the quietly muttered response. Louder, "Missy Cassiopeia will be making a statement all on her own."

Silently amused, Cassiopeia watched as Pip arranged the heavy sleeves of the more formal robes. The little elf worked quickly, moving on to take down and repin her mistress' hair before shivering audibly.

"Missy Cassiopeia, someone is being in the Floo."

Cassiopeia hummed thoughtfully. "Our guest or our reporter, I wonder?"

"Pip is thinking you invited them both as guests, Missy Cassiopeia. You _was_ saying tea."

"Fine- our more welcome guest or our less welcome guest." Standing, she shook invisible creases out of her robes and moved towards the doorway. "You can get them settled in separately, right Pip? I'll be along shortly."

"Pip is handling it," the elf paused, frowning. "While Missy Cassiopeia is doing...?"

Cassiopeia shot one last parting grin over her shoulder as she pulled the dressing room door shut behind her. "Why, a last minute bit of research of course."

* * *

Rita Skeeter looked around Chateau Black with barely disguised distaste. It was just so… French! And surely no family- not even one as old as the Blacks- could be forgiven for having so many antiques? Why, this parlor didn't boast a single modern contraption- no radio, no Celestina Warbeck records, not even a single chintz sofa cover!

Rita had to admit that the late afternoon light streaming through the green and blue colored glass windows was cozy, and the cup of tea that she had been handed by the oddly forward house elf was delightfully well-sugared. But the new Head of the Black family still wasn't going to get a compliment on her decorative skills in Rita's article.

The project was not one she had expected- after five years with the Daily Prophet, she was mainly slated for large event coverage and gossip pieces. Actual interviews were considered a waste of her brutally sharp quill and infinite investigative skills. However, earlier in the day her editor had called her in for a meeting with none other than Narcissa Malfoy- Narcissa Malfoy, whose thinly veiled pleasantries and carefully placed heavy bag of galleons said that the scheduled interview with the new Head of her maiden house should be handled by none other than Rita.

Rita was more than up to the challenge.

Impatient (and not so mildly offended) to be kept waiting, Rita pulled her Quick Quotes Quill out of her mass of bottle blonde curls and tapped it on her notepad thoughtfully. She needed to woo the readers to her side first- maybe start with the audacity of a spinster cousin taking the previous Head's rightful place? Potentially, but it felt wrong. What about subtly undermining the new Head's actions and showing off the rest of the family as being taken advantage of? That would have some bite- not enough to stand out from the current Boy Who Lives media storm, but enough to engage any reader going past the first page. Maybe-

"Miss Skeeter, thank you so much for joining us today."

_Us?_

Startled from her thoughts, Rita looked up as two women glided into the room side by side. The second she recognized immediately as Melania Black- wife of the previous family head Arcturus, and definitely not mentioned as planning to attend in Rita's notes for the meeting.

The woman who had spoken, then, clearly had to be Cassiopeia Black. And if Melania's presence was surprising, then Cassiopeia's appearance was… Unexpected.

Instead of the heavy, outdated robes that Rita was expecting, Cassiopeia Black wore silk and velvet black robes that looked very much like- oh, surely not- were those designed by _Abrielle Delacour_? In strict contrast, her jewelry was all clearly quite old Goblin forged gold, polished beyond compare. This stylish woman was the new Black family matriarch?

Stylish- now that was an idea. Rita could call her flighty, or self-obsessed, or vain. Anything would sell better than stylish.

"The pleasure is mine." Standing sharply, Rita sent a shark-like smile and brief bow in the direction of the older women. Her eyes narrowed slightly as she noted that while Melania inclined her head back, Cassiopeia only raised a single brow and smiled.

"Still, it's never an easy floo trip across the channel," Cassiopeia and Melania settled into matching white French Louis XVI damask armchairs with eerily perfect timing. Shifting her weight, Cassiopeia pointed to a silver tray with two ink pots and a variety of quills on the side table. "I'll have to insist you use my quill and ink while here- the ink is charmed not to stain the chairs, you see. We must take care of the things and traditions that matter, don't you think?"

As far as slaps on the wrist went, it was gentle.

Rita bristled all the same.

"It is so interesting that you say that- after all, wouldn't you say tradition was flaunted when you took the Head of family position from your cousin?"

"Black family history has a rich tradition of ensuring that the correct family leader is in place at the right time."

Walked right into it, Rita thought smugly. "So you're calling your cousin inept?"

Expecting tension (and hoping for a bit of panic), Rita was surprised when Melania tittered lightly behind one hand. "Oh, dear girl- my husband is anything but inept. After decades of leading the family, he is quite excited to pass on the mantle to a younger cousin so in touch with the ever changing needs of the family."

"It does seem there isn't much family to worry about anymore, doesn't it? What with… everything? I'm sure your husband is in mourning over what happened under his nose?"

"Certainly- Arcturus needs time to mourn the murder of our son. And now that the most publicly threatening member of our family is being denied her access to the family magic-,"

"Hold on, what?"

Cassiopeia laughed- a real laugh, unlike Melania's controlled and carefully timed giggles. "Miss Skeeter, did your editor not tell you that in my request for an interview I specified that I had exceedingly interesting news?"

He had- they'd both laughed over the Black family's never-ending self-importance. "I suppose I missed that note in the file."

Cassiopeia and Melania looked at one another. Warily, Rita watched one corner of Cassiopeia's lips quirk upward.

"Miss Skeeter, who was originally assigned to this article?"

Eyes widening, Rita squirmed a bit in her seat before lifting her chin. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Melania sighed. "About as effective as you playing coy," she murmured out of the side of her mouth.

Cassiopeia nodded absentmindedly. "Miss Skeeter, I've read many of your articles. I find them petty, and vicious, and incredibly well written. Frankly, I've considered writing to you and asking for a comparison of reader statistics between the articles you embellish and articles written with journalistic integrity- an interesting little experiment in itself. However, I know your reputation, and I know the people you typically write about, and- this is perhaps the most important bit- I know that my great niece paid you to make me look bad in the paper as part of her temper tantrum over her assigned chores."

There were so many ways Rita could twist the older woman's words that she was almost salivating- blatant accusations of bribery? There was a point for insanity. Rudeness to a report? All sorts of ways to insult her for that. Accusing a family member? Oh, so much for familial bonds!

However….

"Sixty eight percent, now that readers know my name."

"That much? Intriguing! My hypothesis was in the mid-forties range."

"So you see, working for Narcissa Malfoy when she wants someone publicly slandered now and then turns a nice profit, but I would butcher you in the press for free- my projects aren't supposed to be heartwarming, they're supposed to draw in readers."

"Then this project might not be for you."

Cassiopeia and Rita both turned to look at Melania when she spoke.

The composed woman shrugged. "This project will take place over months. There are scapegoats, there are heroes, and Nimue only knows there is more drama than one paper could possibly handle. It needs a reporter with a clear eye for when to play which hand, and who could potentially handle a book deal later. If all you do is rake mud for statistics…. Well. Not for you."

Unseen behind the coffee table, Cassiopeia nudged her cohort's foot appreciatively.

Rita's eyebrows furrowed in distress as she considered Melania's words. "A book deal?"

Cassiopeia nodded. "For an accomplished researcher, I imagine. After all, I expect it will encapsulate much of this new era following the war based on the number of family members we have involved. Not just a gossip rag- something fitting of an Ancient and Noble family."

A book. Now, that was an interesting idea, wasn't it? Cantankerous Nott was the last known author of tomes about the Sacred 28 families- his books were boring and plain, but they had insane sales. If she wrote something stimulating, and factual, and _with permission_? Or at least partial permission- Rita wasn't going to hold back. It went against her personal ethics.

Well. A sixty eight percent increase in readers had nothing on the money that those book sales could rake in.

"When you say 'the number of family members we have involved'- who, precisely, do you mean?"

"Well, there's my great nephew Harry Potter of course. Bellatrix- who I'd like to publicly declare insane, and stripped of her family-,"

"Ah ah ah," Melania tsked, smiling broadly. "If she isn't the right one for the project, well, no need to tell her more."

But Rita had already heard the only name she needed to turn Narcissa Malfoy's bag of galleons back over to her in a hurry. _Harry Potter- the Boy Who Lives._ Papers with any information about the child or his heroic feat had sold like hotcakes for the past three weeks- even though there was literally no new information to be found. How could she have forgotten the Blacks' weak connection to the Potter family through Harry Potter's paternal grandmother?

"Wait- I think we may have started off wrong- really, I'm quite sure we could understand one another." Rita stumbled over her words for only a moment before swelling full of her trademark killer confidence. "I'm a businesswoman, and I would love to do business with you."

"I've no need for a bloodthirsty shark in the water." Cassiopeia's tone was dismissive. "I am a researcher myself- I want good research, and honest writing. Dramatic flair is one thing, blatantly misconstruing bias or lies as facts is another."

"I thought you said-,"

"Yes, I did say I've read your work, and yes I have been interested in your results. However, they aren't tactics I am interested in acquiring from a reporter- there are other qualities I hold much more dear."

Rita sucked in a long breath of air. "I know I can complete this project- I want to complete this project. If you can promise me a book, I can promise you honest reporting- supportive reporting, even. You say the word, and I can take over the article."

"What do you think, Melania?"

Melania smiled brilliantly. "I think we can give you a trial run- let's see if this first article has the result we're looking for."

Two cups of sugar-tea and an entire pot of ink later, Rita's head was swimming but her smile was fierce.

If this went the way she imagined, she'd be able to retire in ten years.

* * *

_November 20, 1981_

_Daily Prophet Special Edition_

_**Breaking News! Breaking News!** _

**Murder, Insanity, and Possible Innocence? New Black Family Materfamilias Tells All!**

_Article by Rita Skeeter_

When I sat down with Madam Cassiopeia Black, I was unsure if I would see the renowned researcher beloved by the French Ministry of Magic or the forgotten spinster of the Black family. Though a sliver of the researcher's capabilities shone through during our conversation, I for one am convinced that the newest Head of the Black family is something else entirely.

Older than we might have expected a new family Head to be, Madam Black is nonetheless a decade and a half younger than the cousin she has so willingly taken over for. Has he dumped his duties on her shoulders to escape? Did he want to avoid being associated with the fall of House Black? Idle gossip may have considered this as an option- after all, Madam Black has been rumored to have managed at least one shameful relative in the past.

Both Madam Black and the previous matriarch of the family Melania Black (who surprised me by joining us for the interview) insist otherwise. Melania in particular wanted to emphasize that her husband has not shirked from his duty- instead, he has proudly passed it on to someone better suited to navigating the family through the troubling times ahead.

My dear readers are likely wondering what troubling times could possibly be lying ahead. After all, the war has ended and the Boy Who Lives (little Harry Potter) has certainly prevailed! But the Black family's struggle seems to be only just beginning: Madam Black's return to Britain is highlighted by not only her newfound control of the Materfamilias position, but by family dramas that we can only begin to speculate on.

I have confirmed that prior to our interview yesterday, Madam Black attended a private meeting with none other than our new head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the stalwartly popular (if a bit young) Amelia Bones. Sources confirm that during the meeting, Madam Black hand delivered her own great niece Walburga Black to an auror team for arrest- more specifically, arrest for the murder of Orion Black. Orion Black has not been seen in public for over a year, and one must speculate how long he has been dead and what other internal monstrosities the Black family may have been covering up during the war. When pressed further, Melania Black stated that it would go against family tradition to further discuss her son's death prior to his funeral.

Walburga Black née Black's future in Azkaban may seem bleak, but she'll be there in good company. Bellatrix Lestrange née Black, sentenced to life in Azkaban during the trials at the beginning of the month for crimes against humanity (including the prolonged torture and subsequent ruin of auror team Frank and Alice Longbottom) will be just a cell away. Madam Black assures me that her life sentence has just become much less comfortable as well- "Bellatrix is clearly insane- the things she has done are beyond understanding. It is for the good of the tree that one must clip the weak and dying branches. As such, I would like it to publicly be known that not only has my great-niece been declared unfit, she has also been severed from the family magic. We will not let her detestable ideas or corrupted magic sour our family for a single day longer."

Severed from the family magic? Readers may remember the explanations of family magic written by Cantankerous Nott- old magic that binds the members and provides, in modern terminology, a "boost" of power and skill sets for family members. As the Black family is one of the oldest in Britain, I would imagine that their magic is very powerful indeed, and that Lestrange is already suffering for lack of it. Madam Black refrained from outright agreeing that this was the case.

Shocked yet, dear readers? Well, hang onto your teapots, because Madam Black is just getting started. Her next order of business is investigating the fate of her great-great nephew: our beloved Harry Potter himself. Madam Black cites loyalty to her sister as the reason she is so determined to find out if the boy is safe, and happy. "Dorea was the most dedicated mother," she said over a cup of tea, "She was five years younger than me, and yet she never missed an opportunity to henpeck me into good health or better spirits. I've been told little Harry's maternal grandmother was similar- and she, too, was murdered by the British Dark Lord. I worry whose hands the boy is now in without any grandparents to speak for him."

Readers may note that this is a piece of new information in the puzzle we have all been attempting to solve- we have not before been told that Lily Potter née Evans's parents were murdered during the war. So who has Albus Dumbledore left him with? Dumbledore elected not to respond to my owl inquiring (for the millionth time).

"My great-nephew Sirius Black was actually Harry's godfather, and Alice Longbottom his godmother. I must say, the most shocking thing I've learned is of Sirius's alleged crimes- I've been told so many things about his absolute loyalty to the Potters, and I do believe my visit to Madam Bones raised several questions. In fact, I expect she'll have a comment for you in the near future."

I was shocked by this bold statement on the part of Madam Black- after all, we have all been told of Sirius Black's final betrayal, and the subsequent deaths of one Peter Pettigrew as well as 13 muggles in a horrifically public massacre. However, Madam Bones did indeed have a comment when I flood her early this morning and demanded she provide the good public with the information we deserve.

"I've recently learned that in his haste, my predecessor left many stones unturned in the investigation of Sirius Black- in fact, there has yet to be a full trial. Myself and my department will now begin a full scale investigation to determine exactly who was guilty, and of what. If Black committed the crimes, he will sit trial as every British citizen has the right. If he was not alone- well. The justice of wizarding Britain will be swift."

Dear readers, I don't know about you, but I personally am going to be very curious to see what exactly happens next.


	17. Results

_November 20, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

Filius Flitwick had never been a morning person, but sheer impatience had sent him jumping out of bed by 5 am that morning. Grading third year essays on unique uses for the cheering charm couldn't distract him; neither could a long sparring session with a dueling dummy in the empty classroom down the corridor from his rooms.

"Filius, you look positively… antsy." Head Matron Poppy Pomfrey eyed him warily as they strode into the Great Hall for breakfast side by side. "Is everything ok?"

"Fine, fine." Nodding absently, Filius's eyes tracked to the high windows that owls would soon come swooping through, delivering student packages, mail… and the Daily Prophet. "Say, Poppy- Do you remember the Marauders very well?"

Startled, Poppy paused for a beat and stared at Filius's back till he stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her.

"They'd be nigh impossible to forget- injury prone, all of them, but particularly Lupin and Black." The Matron was clearly choosing her words carefully. "And I remember their most ludicrous pranks, I'm sure. Hard to forget the time they decked the entire hospital wing out in cupid bows and hearts for Valentine's Day because Lupin was shut in."

Filius hummed noncommittally.

"Filius. Minerva mentioned you've been particularly interested in the end of the war this week. If there's anything I can for you…. Well. There are potions to help handle the stress that comes after terrible things, is all."

Filius frowned, remembering the conversation he'd had with Minerva earlier in the week. Despite his best laid points, the Gryffindor had been convinced that Sirius Black was doubtlessly guilty, and that the Black family would use Harry Potter for their own gain- exactly what Dumbledore had told her he was protecting the child from.

"I appreciate your concern, Filius. Frankly, I have many concerns of my own. However, Dumbledore is confident that the boy is on the best possible path. Surely we can appreciate that? The war is over- it's time to move on."

Move on, yes. Filius could agree with that completely. Now was a time to rebuild what had been destroyed.

But rebuilding at the cost of an innocent life- and possibly more than one innocent life? The foundation of Filius's faith in Dumbledore shook.

"Thank you for your concern." The Charms professor smiled at the Matron, wishing fervently that one of his third years would hit him with a cheering charm for authenticity. "I'll let you know if it comes to that. But you know me Poppy- I'm a Ravenclaw who loves a good puzzle."

The pair settled down at the long faculty and staff table, reaching for platters of eggs and toast.

"Well, if you change your mind…"

"Of course." Filius resisted the urge to glare down the table at Minerva (who was painfully obviously eavesdropping), instead sending a cheery wave towards a group of Ravenclaw and Slytherin seventh years walking into the room.

"Horace mentioned that several of the snakes have signed up to stay at the castle because of the trials," Poppy murmured over a glass of juice. "He's concerned Severus won't be able to care for them properly after he officially retires in the New Year- though I wonder if Horace himself does much better."

Filius frowned. He had a few Ravenclaw students in the same position- parents on trial, other relatives unwilling to associate with a shamed branch. Another place the Ministry seemed to have failed- had no one considered them? "It's a shame Albus denied your suggestion we hire on a mind healer for next term to manage them," Filius finally replied, tone even.

Before Poppy could continue, a shout across the room announced the delivery that had kept Filius on edge for the past several days and interrupted his sleep so thoroughly: the Friday paper.

Out of the parliament of owls swooping into the castle, a smaller group of delivery owls swept towards the teachers' tables carrying bundles of papers, packages, and other mail. Filius identified his normal delivery owl easily- the beast landed right in the middle of the bacon as per usual.

"Can't you intercept that bloody creature before it ruins breakfast for us all?" On Filius's right, Madam Hooch was bristling but Filius didn't even hear her. He was entirely too occupied with his newspaper.

Skimming through once quickly, Filius felt equal measures of excitement and dread welling up in his chest. He looked up with a carefully neutral expression, tapping one finger on Rita Skeeter's lengthy article when he caught Minerva's eye.

Her face was pale and twisted- but she nodded minutely, just once.

Filius returned to his breakfast, inability to sit still temporarily eased. Minerva would investigate with him, then- this had been enough for even the most stubborn Gryffindor to become curious. And depending on what they found, he might just have to return Isla's visit.

No harm could be found in having tea, after all.

* * *

_November 20, 1981_

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

Narcissa Malfoy leaned close to her son over the breakfast table, mindful of her sleeves as she carefully fed him tiny pieces of chocolate covered strawberries. Lucius watched her adoringly, dazed by the effect of her deep blonde hair against the cornflower blue silk of her robes. Cissy had always been most beautiful like this, tucked in at the table in their private breakfast room. There was very little that Lucius imagined could mar the image before him.

"Does my darling little dragon like strawberries now? Oh yes, he does!"

Well, possibly that baby voice. (It was creepily reminiscent of her older sister.)

Ducking back behind the morning's edition of the Prophet, Lucius grimaced. "Cissy, isn't he a bit old for such talk now?"

The look Narcissa shot her husband nearly burnt through the sports section. "What was that Lucius, darling? I thought you'd said something ridiculous."

Lucius flinched and turned back to the Rita Skeeter article he'd just started on.

"Oh yes! My darling little dragon likes pears, too, don't you?" Narcissa cooed at her little son, who banged his silver spoon on the table and beamed back at her. "Such a healthy appetite- one day you'll be big and strong, just like your-,"

"Cissy?"

"Yes, Lucius?"

"Didn't you say that you encouraged a reporter to make your Great Aunt look bad?"

It was the wariness in her husband's tone that set Narcissa on guard. "Why, yes, I did encourage Miss Skeeter a bit when I stopped by the Prophet's offices."

"Were you… quite clear, my love? On the tone you wanted her to convey?"

Narcissa arched one perfectly shaped blonde brow. "Have I ever been anything less than _clear_ , Lucius?"

Lucius briefly considered mentioning the two years that she'd refused to confirm if they were actually courting or not, the six months that she had been so vague about her pregnancy that he hadn't realized they were expecting till she asked if he liked the new nursery, and the dozens of times she had left him feeling distinctly like he'd done something wrong but as if he'd never know precisely what.

Then he took the safer route and slid the paper across the table with no further feet in his mouth.

Narcissa skimmed the article, her lips pursing ever so slightly as she read further down the page. "Lucius?"

"Yes, Cissy?"

"You should take Draco flying now."

"I was actually going to-,"

"Now, please."

Lucius made his second best decision of the morning- he picked up his son and left his wife alone to shatter plates in peace.

* * *

_November 20, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

"Mother?"

Isla glanced up from her writing desk, a rare expression of surprise on her face.

"Elvira darling! What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming till tomorrow for brunch."

Elvira Zabini swept into the room in a cloud of dusty rose robes and fresh rose perfume, her toddler perched on her hip like a particularly fashionable accessory in a muted gold overcoat. "I rather thought it was worth stopping by."

A single blonde eyebrow arched high as Isla watched her daughter contemplatively.

"I've just come from breakfast with Deliah Parkinson, and you'd be absolutely amazed at the flutter she was in. It seems that some of the older families were quite excited about the advantage that the Blacks falling would have presented them with." Elvira settled gracefully onto the love seat nearest the fireplace, depositing Blaise on the ground to stare up at her in confusion. "Go on now, _dai un bacio a tua nonna_."

"Still determined he'll speak all languages equally well?"

Elvira shrugged. "They're his birthright, don't you think? He should know English, Italian, and Spanish equally. Besides- it's cute now and it'll be good for managing his father's assets when I hand them over to them."

Isla smiled, reaching down to intercept Blaise as he crossed the room to her and smoothing back his coarse hair to place an affectionate kiss on each of the little boy's pink cheeks. "He'll do us proud, I'm sure."

"Of course he will." Elvira shot her mother a mildly offended glance. "He's my son- he'll be the best of the best."

Ignoring the urge to roll her eyes, Isla turned her mind instead to the matter of Deliah Parkinson. "Parkinsons, Goyle, Bulstrodes…. the lower tier families I assume?"

"Murmurs of mild protests- little inconveniences that they can achieve- hardly anything more. The Blacks were unpopular with every faction during the war, even their own. Bullies, the lot of them, and more prone to throw money than make alliances."

Isla nodded mildly, refraining from mentioning the several times that she herself had been accused of bullying one of the Blacks. "How soon do you expect something to happen?"

"That's why I'm here, isn't it?" It'd been a decade since Elvira had been a teenager, but her _really, mother?_ expression hadn't changed one bit. "I would have waited till tomorrow to tell you what I'd learned, but at breakfast today Delia mentioned a very specific newspaper article."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"Miss Skeeter did well, I thought, to remain so unbiased."

Elvira's eye roll was yet another flashback to her adolescence. "As unbiased as she's capable of, anyways. Narcissa Malfoy's influence, I presume? Rita is her normal writer. I was expecting Nigel Thorn, or maybe Marianne Bori."

"Cassiopeia mentioned that Narcissa was throwing a… tantrum… over her assigned chores." Isla's nose wrinkled at the idea of such tasteless behavior. "I'm sure her next little rebellion will be less mild- Cassiopeia will need to nip the behavior in the bud."

"I'd think an example would do- of what she loses if she doesn't comply." Elvira's eyes wandered to Blaise, who'd settled down on the ground with his chin in his hands to stare at the fire. "What day did you say you'd like to take the children to the zoo?"

* * *

_November 20, 1981_

_Azkaban Prison_

Sirius Black pressed himself against the frozen stone walls of his prison cell, coiled into a stiff ball and muttering into the heavy grey gloom that permeated the whole island.

"My fault. My fault. All my fault."

He had no clue how long he had been there- some days he was fed, some days he was not, and meals were too inconsistent to measure his misery by. Occasionally he felt the dementors swarming, close and threatening and utterly horrifying, and he watched Lily repeat the Fidelius charm with Peter standing in for him as secret keeper over and over again. He saw James's cold body over and over. He handed Harry to Hagrid and...

Human guards did not visit- they did not care if the most hated criminal of the war lived or died under their care. They certainly didn't bring him the paper.

"My fault. My fault. All my fault."

Until today.

"Shut your wad, Black- damn crazy already, weren't you?"

Sirius didn't lift his head, though he had the sense of mind left to close his mouth. He'd experienced what it meant to try to talk back in the first two days at Azkaban.

"Thought you ought to see this. Your precious family's already punished your batty cousin, and I reckon after this trial you'll be next. I'll let you read ahead to see how much they care about the fate of you bad apples." The guard sneered as he threw the day's copy of the paper through the bars. "Shame this broad wasn't around to knock sense into you all sooner."

_Trial?_ Sirius was fairly certain he'd been told he wouldn't ever see a trial- just be locked away forever.

"Don't go too crazy yet Black. I for one want to make sure we get whoever you were working with too."

Sirius waited to pick up the paper till the guard had given up on getting a response and walked down the corridor. _A trial!_ Surely it wasn't even….

Forcing himself to keep his feelings in check- happiness, amusement, joy…. they all attracted hungry dementors- Sirius read the article slowly, word by word.

_Aunt Cassie._ He'd not seen her since he was a child, and barely remembered her aside from Dorea's fond comments about her self-exiled older sister.

He had no idea what she wanted from him. But….

_A trial_ , Sirius Black thought, and for one brief moment before he returned to his muttering, he wondered if he might survive Azkaban after all.


	18. Limaxes and Thunderbirds and Billywigs

**A/N:** Hello everyone! Thank you for sticking with me thus far- I'm incredibly excited now that we're diving into some of the plot after quite a lot of plotting (don't get me wrong- we have quite a lot of that left to do still too!). I wanted to briefly answer a few questions I've seen repeated in the comments: (1) Rita Skeeter's article (which prompted the "results" in the previous chapter) can be found at the end of Chap. 16. (2) Narcissa is mad over events occurring at the end of Chap. 13. (3) I don't have any character art for this fic (sorry guys, I'm a stick figure kind of gal) but would welcome any!

As always, I endlessly appreciate you taking the time to review and tell me what you like most in the chapter and giving me the incentive to keep typing! Updates will continue being on Mondays and Wednesdays. Hopefully you all have fun with the several real world references in this chapter. Have a great weekend, and thanks again!

* * *

_November 28, 1981_

_La Ménagerie Magique de Montmartre_

Known around the world as the only European magical zoo worth mentioning, La Ménagerie Magique de Montmartre had invested hundreds of thousands of galleons into maintaining its prestigious reputation.

In the late 1800's, an extremely popular Parisian whore house had donated enough money to craft the golden, two story high gates that wrapped around the entire zoo. Peaked with rare jewels and etched with dancing creatures by the goblins themselves, the gates were once considered a wizarding wonder of the world (not even counting what was inside of them). Though the whore house itself was long gone, descendents of its original clients and courtesans continued to donate money to what stood as the most dramatic piece of their heritage.

In the early 1930's, the renowned Newt Scamader himself had worked with staff to build appropriate accommodations for many of his "pet" creatures, leaving them in the care of the zoo on the condition that they would be treated properly and that some of the zoo's proceeds would go towards funding care of magical creatures training for interested students. Every few years, the magizoologist and his wife visited to check on the animals they'd brought and to provide presentations on newer beasts.

In the 1950's, muggleborn chef Michel Guérard was hired as a consultant to design an entirely unique eating experience for visitors to La Ménagerie Magique de Montmartre. The light versions of popular meals he created, with separate menus for each habitat and each season, had visitors flocking for brunch and dinner. Among his most popular creations were the gray sea bream ceviche with mangoes, poached farm egg in green coat, and roasted grapefruit almond ice cream.

The most recent improvement had been a large show-bar, complete with veela bartenders performing party tricks, live creature shows, and other famous performers. This was in addition to boating the world's widest selection of Gigglejuices and elven made wines- to say the new addition had brought in crowds was an understatement.

By the 1980's, fringe reporters hung around the gates of the zoo hoping for sightings of (and subsequent writeups on) famous people, foreign dignitaries, and interesting drama. Much of the magical business district (one street over on Rue Saint-Denis) popped over for lunch at least three times a week, as did employees of the French Ministry of Magic, allowing a well-timed eavesdropper to learn all sorts of exciting things.

Yes, La Ménagerie Magique de Montmartre left very little to be desired when one wanted to make a particular impression- and, more specifically, a particularly public impression.

Isla Calderon smiled broadly as she swept out of the Floo terminal in front of the main entrance to the zoo, stepping carefully to the side so that her entourage could exit without knocking her over. Paris hadn't disappointed her in the past, and as she noted the three undercover reporters staring unabashedly in her direction, she realized the city wasn't going to do so today either.

"I'm fairly certain a small village could live in this fireplace. Firehouse. Fire village- really, how big is this thing?" Helen Granger shook invisible ash off her light yellow robes and glanced around the Floo terminal with raised eyebrows. Her right hand kept a firm grip on her toddler, who was more interested in her playmate than the fireplace.

"They expanded it in the 20's after too many people arrived at once and the previous terminal exploded." Elvira Zabini wrinkled her nose at her son's positively shameless behavior when he offered the little girl beside him his hand. "Blaise- manners! Devi offrirle il tuo braccio. Not your hand. In a few years, that'd make the wrong impression."

Isla took in Helen Granger's rather dubious expression and quickly intervened. "Will their tiny arms even allow good manners?" Voice deceptively light, she stooped low to press both toddlers against her cheeks in a particularly photographable moment. "Let them be children while they may, darling."

Elvira glanced to Helen for support and, seeing the opposite, subsided with a quiet huff and a wide fake smile.

"Shouldn't Cassiopeia have come through by now?" Helen glanced back towards the fire with mild concern, clearly thinking about the explosion Elvira had so casually described.

"Likely she's forgotten something and that house elf of hers is- oh, here she comes now."

Sure enough, Cassiopeia was stepping out of the fireplace and blinking around as if thoroughly unsure what she was doing there. The faint glaze over her eyes suggested that she had gotten distracted by some experiment or another, and the thick folder in her arms suggested that 'that house elf of hers' fully expected her mistress to need reading material during the children's day trip.

"Apologies, delayed by a message from the Head of Accidental Magic at St. Mungos. Interesting new project- wanted to take a potion that identifies magical individuals and use it to automatically Portkey them out of muggle hospitals to potentially avoid the need for large cover ups. There's a lot of theoretical issues, of course- for example-,"

Isla tapped her nose on her oldest friend's nose twice sharply. "It's a zoo day, not a work day Cassiopeia Black!" Her easy laughter belied any possible exasperation.

Cassiopeia's vision sharpened, and, remembering her job as both Materfamilias and orchestrator of a positive PR spin, she kissed Helen on both cheeks before daintily patting her great niece on the head once. "I do believe Newt Scamander would argue that the two go hand in hand, wouldn't you?"

Elvira glanced at Cassiopeia with mild surprise as the group of six headed towards the ticket stand. "Are you acquainted with him yourself?"

"Oh, certainly! Newt's a dab hand at his own research- odd though I may find it, he understands the creature's I use for potions ingredients better than any other person I've consulted. So long as I practice humane gathering, he's always willing to lend me his eyes when I catch a project that needs ingredient remediation."

"His wife Tina- the famous MACUSA auror, you may remember- absolutely dotes on Cassiopeia." Isla refrained from rolling her eyes, fully understanding exactly how the fondly exasperated wife of a devoted researcher felt after decades with Cassiopeia. "She seems to think she's the same kind of manic genius as her husband."

"Are manic geniuses really so common in the magical world?" Helen asked hesitantly.

"Oh, I wouldn't say so- those that are tend to be rather well known though."

"Mama, you must be more specific with her- manic geniuses are not common in the magical world as a whole, but they do run in the Black family." Elvira sent a chiding glance in her mother's direction.

Cassiopeia nudged Helen in the ribs gently before lacing her arm through the younger woman's. "Ignore their chatter- manic genius may run in the family, but it's quite profitable. You've no reason to worry my dear girl."

If Isla was less well-bred, she may have snorted. As it was, she coughed delicately into her palm and approached the ticket gate.

"Bonjour! How many tickets, Madame?"

"Six."

"Today's show is called "Limaxes and Thunderbirds and Billywigs- oh my!" and is being presented by Mr. Newt Scamader's son Tobias. It is an incredibly rare presentation- can I interest you in tickets for the showing immediately after lunch as well?"

Free publicity- Isla would be a fool to pass it up. "Of course."

"Magnifique! Here are your admittance tickets-," the young ticket salesman (who appeared to be at least ¼ Veela judging by his inordinately pretty face) handed over four oversized golden tickets with the thick sky blue logo of the zoo emblazoned on them, "and here are your tokens for the show, and here is your Fully Retractable Map with Voice Directions. Instructions on the first page. Please enjoy your visit!"

Herding her group towards the large row of golden styles, Isla cast one last glance at the undercover journalists over her shoulder. Only one was still staring back- a trim woman with a mane of wild red curls and piercing green eyes. When Isla winked, the woman grinned and moved smoothly towards the ticket booth.

Oh yes, Narcissa was going to regret making her son lose out on this particular adventure.

* * *

Zoos were, in Helen's experience, fairly standard experiences. Animals grouped by habitat, the occasional petting or feeding opportunity, and limited overpriced snacks. She'd been a tad surprised that Isla had sent her a note (and lord, wasn't owl mail still startling?) instructing her to wear her second best set of wizarding robes and to make sure Hermione's hair was in order. After all, wouldn't they just walk and eat and shiver?

She realized her expectations were inaccurate the second she stepped out of the Floo- and actually walking into the zoo had proved her wrong on more levels than she could even begin to count. Her own robes were nice, but they paled in comparison to the daring options worn by the French Ministry of Magic Employees. Instead of dozens of grubby fingered little heathens, perfectly coiffed children cheerfully dragged their guardians around with abandon and a conspicuous lack of sweat or stickiness. The brisk air outside the gates was replaced immediately by a warm sea breeze- clearly from some magical source- and the air smelled more like some inordinately expensive perfume than it did hundreds of animals living in a contained space.

If Helen was bemused, then Hermione was in love- the little girl had been expecting to see the "olli-fants" that she adored at the ZSL but the flying seahorses in the first exhibit they visited proved to be equally enchanting.

"Isn't that a bit illogical?" Helen asked as one flying seahorse took off after another in a huff.

"Not at all my dear girl- seahorses, muggle and magical alike- can be extremely adaptable. This is just an additional protection from water predators."

A silver netted cage was next, filled with golden snidgets and hoo-hoos. The tiny yellow birds flew so fast they resembled streaks of gold, pausing only periodically to rest on the branches strategically laid out in the front of the nets. Around them, slightly larger hoo-hoos (which Helen secretly thought looked like fat dwarven roosters) breathed out brief plumes of fire in red, gold, and green.

"I'd quite like a hoo-hoo," Elvira confided quietly as the mothers watched their toddlers attempt to poke their fingers through the impenetrable silver nets. "I've always thought that if I could train one to sit perfectly still on my hat, it could burn anyone who annoyed me with no warning."

Startled, Helen laughed. "I suppose that's one approach to defense. I can't say I wouldn't worry about the less pleasant aspect of birds- namely, poop in your hair."

A smirk. "Fortunately, there are spells for that. You muggles really must struggle without them."

Rolling her eyes, Helen kept her smile firmly in place. "I would love to introduce you to bleach- show you exactly how clean we can get things."

The noncommittal hum she received in response steeled her determination to drag the Zabinis to her house for their next play date, even if it was kicking and screaming. Really, did all of these wizards expect them to live in pig pens?

The group worked their way through the remainder of the flying creatures, the highlights of which were a snallygaster (Blaise threw a full blown tantrum when his mother said he absolutely would not be allowed to take the bird-reptile home with them) and an augurey (Cassiopeia spent nearly a half hour describing the lesser known 'Irish Phoenix' to an entranced Hermione who had a surprisingly long attention span through the following speech about weather forecasting).

A large conservatory styled after the greenhouses of the Jardin d'Auteuil held hundreds of magical plant species as well as magical insects, including imperial dragonflies, glow bugs, and glumbumbles. Cassiopeia cheerfully nattered on about the potions properties of various plants, while Isla ducked behind her oldest friend each time a bug floated too near. Helen quickly realized that some sort of magic barrier prevented the insects from actually landing on or touching them- for the best, based on some of the descriptions she read and teeth sizes she saw- but she couldn't blame the older woman for her paranoia (after all, she was gripping her daughter a bit like a living shield in her arms).

The merpeople section was next, however, the Magical Creature Rights Acts of the late 1800's had prohibited keeping sentient beings in zoos and so the lovingly dubbed "Mer-Feature" was now run by an organized group of well paid merpeople (including merrows, selkies, and sirens) who gave ongoing demonstrations, taught language and culture classes, and resisted the urge to drag the youngest visitors deep below the crystal blue waters of their large pools. The group dawdled at the Mer-Feature for some time- Elvira claimed an odd kinship with the sirens in particular, admiring their sharp teeth and cheerful stories of luring muggle sailors with gleeful abandon while Helen herded both toddlers away from the water.

They didn't last long in the pixie house- both toddlers were past due for a quick rest and lunch- and after waving goodbye to a particularly crude Cornish pixie the six tourists moved on to their reservations at Le Crillon.

"You may want to be careful," Elvira cautioned, the superiority in her tone making Helen grit her teeth. "I'm sure most muggle cooking doesn't include rich flavors like these- I wouldn't want you to fall ill."

"Actually, this is fairly normal cuisine- I've eaten at plenty of French restaurants before." Helen's dry tone was just north of civil, and Elvira's doubtful glance didn't help matters.

"Manners, please," Isla murmured out of the side of her mouth, her hand laid gently on her wand, and Elvira jumped in her seat as if she'd been stung (possibly by a light stinging hex, but who would ever know?). Helen resisted the urge to stick out her tongue.

"This really is quite phenomenal," Cassiopeia commented from behind her menu, where she remained oblivious to the tension between muggle and witch across the table. "I say, the pudding options alone are splendidly diverse- I think I'll skip lunch in favor of one or five of them."

"Aunt Cassie, you really should worry more for what the amount of sugar you consume does to your teeth," Helen sighed as she picked out a veggie-rich quiche with a side salad. "Honestly, either Daniel or myself would be happy to take a look at yours sometime."

"Why on earth would you look at someone's teeth? Are they horses?"

Helen shot Elvira a quelling look. "Muggles practice proper tooth hygiene- twice yearly cleanings, braces to make the teeth straight, tooth whitening, and more. It's incredibly important- good tooth health is associated with a more attractive appearance and longer life spans."

Tongue flicking around the slightly too forward tooth behind her bottom lip, Elvira frowned. "Preposterous- surely wizards would have a solution before muggles did. You don't have magic!"

"And they've learned to do better than well without it." Cassiopeia surprised Helen by jumping into the conversation easily- though why she thought the older woman would miss the chance to educate someone was a mystery. "Muggle medicine is a totally different world than magical medicine- frankly, if the two were practiced together, we would likely see a higher rate of success in both worlds. It's a shame St. Mungos has banned the option for the time being. If they hadn't-,"

"If they hadn't, you might have a perfect smile." Helen smiled broadly, revealing her own perfectly even, white teeth toward Elvira.

A long pause, and then-, "Perhaps when we visit, you could explain more."

Helen felt a brief victorious flicker in her stomach. "I'd be happy to oblige."

* * *

The rest of lunch was decidedly more affable, highlighted by Blaise's eerily perfect manners and Hermione's cheerful abandon of her chicken strips in favor of one of Cassiopeia's puddings (Helen considered protesting, but sharing the grapefruit ice cream was the first sign that Cassiopeia could be comfortable around her great-niece and such baby steps couldn't be halted). Afterwards, they had to hurry across the zoo to make it to their show.

"Newt's son- I didn't realize he was a magizoologist as well," Isla murmured to Cassiopeia as they herded the younger members of their groups in the direction of the Grand Stage. "I suppose it's a coincidence that you chose today for a visit?"

"Of course not." Cassiopeia's obliviousness to the rhetorical nature of Isla's question made her friend smile. "After we discussed the need to nip Narcissa's behavior in the bud, I called in a bit of a favor. Newt himself is in Africa, so Tobias will have to do."

"Oh, he will do quite nicely, I imagine- we've had a reporter tailing us the entire day."

"Lovely- quite on schedule then, aren't we? I do hope the little luncheon incident is overlooked. I'm quite interested in maintaining Narcissa's belief that Helen's as pureblooded as she."

"Your niece is ridiculously stubborn."

Cassiopeia shrugged, and slid into her assigned seat. "We're Blacks- what did you expect?"

The Grand Stage was a carved marble circle topped with a stained glass dome that depicted hundreds of magical beasts circling the sky blue logo of La Ménagerie Magique de Montmartre. At the center was a high raised stage of rose quartz and marble, draped tent style with a matching sky blue velvet cloth that, before shows, hid the performers from sight during setup.

The show began when the room was plunged into sudden darkness. Hermione and Blaise both began to wail, diving for their mothers' laps. Their ire was brief, however- the room was almost immediately reilluminated by bright golden fireworks whizzing through the air. An announcer's voice was magically projected through the air.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Welcome to La Ménagerie Magique de Montmartre's presentation of the popular American touring show, Limaxes and Thunderbirds and Billywigs- oh my! Starring alongside his creatures in today's rare viewing opportunity is Mr. Tobias Scamader himself!"

As the words faded away, the lights slowly returned through the giant stained glass dome to center on the stage, and the velvet curtain was banished away.

At the center of the stage, looking remarkably like his father had thirty years prior, stood Tobias Scamander. Where Newt was quiet and factual, Tobias had inherited a show person's spirit from his American Auntie (and likely from his time at an American boarding school, Isla thought, considering the rumors she heard about what children were allowed to get up to at Ilvermorny). Tobias twirled in a large circle on the stage, flipping his jewel toned robes out with dramatic flair as he bowed towards the crowded stands.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Small boys and girls! Welcome to the show!"

He immediately raised his wand and tapped it on a beautifully intricate carpet bag on a stand to his right, sending it opening wide- only for a limax to appear. The sluggish magical creature had a wide, hammer shaped head, 4 long arms, and a bottom half similar to that of a king cobra. There was a weapon in each hand: an axe, a mace, a dagger, and a short sword. The creature bowed to Tobias as it slithered across the stage by way of greeting.

"This, wonderful people, is a limax! He is-," Tobias's full scientific explanation of the creature before him was reminiscent of a Cassiopeia lecture-, "But most importantly, he is a skilled warrior who I call Joe. Today, Joe and I will be duelling for the grand prize of my life or a bar of chocolate for Joe!"

The ensuing duel (which began when Tobias exchanged his wand for a short handled sword of his own) was fast and furious- the crowd screamed multiple times when the limax came close to actually piercing the flamboyant performer's skin or robes. However, by the end the limax was bowing in graceful defeat, weapons repacked in his traveling bag and bar of chocolate safely in one of four hands.

Looking as if he'd barely broken a sweat despite the furious fighting that had just occurred, Tobias grinned and spun and leapt around victoriously for the crowd. "And now, my own father's good friend- Frank the thunderbird!"

The tap of his wand against a seperate, older carpet bag brought the well known war hero soaring out of the carpet bag into the sky. "In addition to being the patron of my own house at Ilvermorny, Frank is actually a war hero- his presence was crucial during Grindelwald's terror attack in New York. My father had actually gone to America to take Frank home, but in the chaos that ensued it took a longer bit than expected. Frank was released into the wild and lived in Arizona for ten years before he randomly appeared at our home and refused to leave- he's been with our family ever since."

As the Thunderbird soared above the awed crowd, Tobias explained the importance of the creature to the locals in it's preferred climate, its ability to sense danger, and the heartbreaking commonality of poachers capturing the birds for their feathers despite the 1927 decree naming the bird a protected species.

"Now- can I get two young volunteers willing to meet Frank face to face? Younger children and thunder birds get along like peas in a pod- children don't spark their inherent danger warning signal, and what little one doesn't like playing in the sprinklers?" Tobias spun around the room, looking at all the loud little volunteers and waving hands. With a perfectly natural flourish, his arm rose to point into the crowd- directly at Cassiopeia. "Madam, would your two wards please make their way up?"

Helen shot Cassiopeia a panicked look, but the Black matriarch ignored it in favor of a wide smile. "Of course! Elvira, darling- take them both please. Helen, stay."

Despite the tension between the two women, Elvira's glance in Helen's direction was reassuring as she picked up both toddlers and appareted them onto the stage as a group.

Hermione ducked behind Elvira's robes, but Blaise reached out confidently towards the large bird (privately, Elvira bemoaned the fact that she'd likely have to get him some horribly messy creature eventually- and really, the child's taste!). Tobias stooped towards them both with a surprising amount of gentleness for a clearly accomplished performer.

"Come along now, the both of you if you would," he coaxed and, Hermione clutching his hand like a life preserver, the three slowly made their way over to Frank.

The large old thunder bird snorted at them, dropping his head low and twisting to stare at them. His second set of pearly wings rose up, flapping forward gently- and spraying them all with mist.

Hermione giggled. "Again?"

"Oh, Frank can do better than that, can't you old boy?"

Over the next ten minutes, Hermione and Blaise proceeded to become absolutely drenched as they ran under and around the thunderbird, who tolerated their boisterous presence with the same quiet patience that a very large dog might afford a rambunctious set of kittens. The audience cooed with delight as the beast allowed them a short flight on his back each (Helen dug her nails so deeply into her seat the wood was permanently marred) before Elvira popped them all back to their seats.

Once Frank had returned to his carpetbag, Tobias brought out his third travel companion: a sapphire blue billywig he referred to as Earl. A brief wave of his wand sent a large visual of the class XXX Australian insect into the air, and it zoomed around his head on wings protruding from the top of his head as he cheerfully explained the drug like properties of the billywig stinger as well as the possible downsides of hovering uncontrollably in the air for days at a time. "... and a lad I knew out of Sydney who provoked too many billywigs spent a fortnight floating above the Sydney harbor- quite the spectacle it was! Positively hilarious if he hadn't been imprisoned for violating the International Statute of Secrecy. Right kids, this is why we don't do drugs- not even fun ones like billywig stingers. And on that note, who would like to see me be stung?"

The crowd roared for him to continue of course, and it was with cheerful abandon that Tobias allowed Earl to alight on his finger and press his long, thin stinger into one finger. The effect was almost instant- Tobias began giggling like the toddlers he'd invited to the stage, and by the time he evolved into full blown guwaffing he had begun to levitate. Clearly the single sting had limited affect on his control- he stepped through the air lightly as if dancing, laughing like mad all the while and spinning his robes in a flashy display of color.

The crowd cheered, only stopping when he slowly lowered to the ground and settled his face into a more natural smile.

Thanking Earl jovially, Tobias sent him back to his carrying case before facing the crowd one last time. "Ladies and gentlemen! Small boys and girls! I hope you have learned more than you ever imagined about these three creatures, and that you are inspired to continue your studies of the magical creatures in the world around you! Thank you for this show!"

In a sudden flurry of velvet curtains and golden fireworks followed by a moment of brief darkness before daylight streamed freely through the room, Tobias and his act disappeared.

"What do you think, little love?" Helen bounced Hermione on her lap, noting the little girl was clearly fighting sleep. "That was a splendid show, wasn't it?"

"More!" Blaise demanded, not at all tired himself, and Elvira groaned.

"Morganna save me- I'm going to have to send the boy to the Scamander family at this rate. No one told me that the Zabini line ran towards insane obsessions with creatures."

"We'd take him in heartbeat."

The group whirled around in surprise, multiple sets of eyebrows raising when Tobias Scamader was found perched casually on the wall behind them.

"Really- mother would love another danger loving little running around the house."

"You forget that I know your mother," Isla smiled as she pulled the young man down and into a hug. He kissed her cheek politely. "I am quite certain she would not."

"Oh, Marjorie and I survived, didn't we?" Tobias kissed Cassiopeia's cheek before bowing over Elvira and Helen's hands. Finally, he stopped down to the toddlers. "These two did absolutely wonderfully today with Frank- I dare say that was the most fun he's had all month."

"I couldn't thank you enough," Elvira beamed from under her lashes. "Blaise so loves a magical creature experience."

A bit bemused, Tobias hmmed noncommittally before tapping one finger on Hermione's curls. "And this young lady- you certainly found your bravery there at the end, didn't you?"

"I'd quite like her to stick to logic instead next time- logic says the ground is much safer." Helen responded dryly.

"Pardon?"

The undercover journalist from outside the gate appeared soundlessly behind Isla, smiling widely when the Calderon mistress turned to her. "I would love a photo of Mr. Scamander with the children for the paper- I'd even mail you a copy."

"Of course." Isla's gracious smile hid the shark tooth grin that threatened to appear. "So long as you mail both Madam Black and myself copies of the other photographs you've collected today- we do so love good photos."

If the woman was surprised, she showed no sign. Instead, she indicated that the toddlers should pose on either side of Tobias, who cheerfully spread brightly robed arms around each thin shoulder.

"Oh but wait! I have one other friend who would be great for the photo- this little man would certainly be excited to meet her." Reaching his hand into one suspiciously deep pocket, Tobias delicately withdrew one last beast: a copper colored baby dragon not much larger than his hand.

While Helen had absolutely no idea what the creature was (other than a weird little lizard, perhaps) the others present had taken Care of Magical Creatures long enough to realize exactly what the little dragon was: an adorably miniature man-eating Peruvian Vipertooth.

"What on earth!" the reporter gasped loudly. "Mr. Scamander, with the children present, is that even-,"

"Safe? Oh, yes?" By the end of Tobias's lecture on the timeline of a Peruvian Vipertooth's development and their diet through the first two years of their lives, the reporter quite wished she hadn't asked. When he paused for a breath between pointing out the delicate wings (which Blaise was stroking reverently) and the still-soft spikes across the beast's head, she took her chance and jumped in.

"Lovely, really lovely. If we could just pose now, please…."

Isla and Cassiopeia caught one another's eye and grinned wickedly.

The picture finally taken, which was used in the Parisian newspaper spread that appeared the next day, featured Tobias with one arm around Hermione and the other holding the baby Peruvian Vipertooth close to his chest. While Tobias beamed his trademark grin towards the camera, Hermione threw back her hair and giggled and Blaise ran his tiny fingers over the young dragon's scales.

* * *

_November 29, 1981_

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

Narcissa Malfoy crossed one shapely leg over the other, sipping her wine quietly as she listened to Lucius recount yet another idea he'd had to punish Rita Skeeter for the bag of galleons that she had had the audacity to return with a copy of her decidedly unoffensive article.

"-and if my peacocks eat her remains, no one would ever suspect us!" He finished with a dramatic bow that sent his long blonde hair cascading over his shoulders.

Narcissa sighed. Lucius was an exemplary Malfoy- ambitious and cunning with a ridiculously dab hand at navigating political meetings and board rooms alike. However, there was a reason he was not allowed to concoct plans on his own.

It was a good thing he was pretty.

"I know you'd like to train the peacocks to eat people, but it remains terribly impractical. What would I do during a garden party? I'd have to kill them all, and you'd not appreciate it."

Lucius frowned. "Couldn't garden parties be held elsewhere?"

A single blonde brow arched high. "Lucius what did I tell you when we got married?"

"That you wanted both sides of the master closet?"

"And?"

"That I was absolutely not allowed to make big decisions without consulting you because the tattoo was an unsightly surprise?"

"And?"

"Oh- that a happy wife will make for a happy life."

"Precisely. And what makes me happy, Lucius?"

Confident of their privacy in their personal sitting room, Lucius dropped to his knees before his wife and slide one hand up her calf.

Narcissa grinned. "Well, yes- but what else?"

"Parties- ah, I follow. Garden parties have to be here. Got it- now about the other thing that makes you happy, Cissy dear?"

"Oh, I think you could make a few suggestions."

Before Lucius could do more than slide his hand further up his wife's now exposed thigh, a rapid tapping at the window signalled an urgent piece of mail.

Lucius stood up with a dramatic flourish, leaving his disappointed wife in her seat as he crossed to retrieve the letter. "It's for you- really, who would send an urgent notice this late? It isn't about-,"

Lucius cut himself off abruptly, remembering the thousands of shards of glass he'd watched the house elves clean up days prior after Cissy's temper tantrum. With bated breath, he handed over the thick envelope.

Narcissa opened it to find a newspaper clipping and a handful of photographs. The French article (identified by the logo in the top corner) screamed **"Black Matriarch Sighted at La Ménagerie Magique de Montmartre!"** The photos depicted the girl, Hermione running around the Parisian zoo hand in hand with the little Zabini boy, eating ice cream with the increasingly popular Black matriarch, and soaring through the air on a thunder bird of all things.

The picture that did her in was the image of the two children with a tiny dragon- the whole world knew her son's obsession with his namesake, and yet he had clearly been purposely left out of the adventure. Narcissa seethed, remembering Cassiopeia's promise the night of the family council. That horrible old b-

A note fell from the bottom of the envelope. In scrawling cursive, it read: _If you take care of the Family, the Family will take care of you. This is your only warning to behave, Narcissa. I still expect to see Andromeda at the funeral._

Lucius eyed his wife's slow smile warily. "Cissy, are you…?"

"I'm uncertain if I should be pleased that the head of my maiden House has outwitted me or if I should be angry." Narcissa's frank tone had Lucius backing away slowly. "But there are 10 ways this could play out, and the old bat has the upper hand. Let's play nice for a bit and see what it does for Draco, shall we?"

Lucius eyed her. "And that means?"

"Well, definitely no peacocks eating annoying reporters, for starters. But also- I'll have to go visit my sister tomorrow."

"In Azkaban?"

"Don't be silly- Andromeda lives in Evesham."

"Wait, what?"

"Perhaps you could go back to the things that make me happy now?" Narcissa flipped back her long hair and held her hand out invitingly. "I could use a… suggestion or two."

Lucius shrugged and dropped back to the ground with all the grace of a housecat. "As you please, Lady Malfoy."


	19. Memories

November 30, 1981

Tonks Residence, Salisbury

Andromeda Tonks was an avid collector of memories.

It didn't matter whose they were- her own, or someone else's- so long as they were meaningful. Moments that changed a life's trajectory, small conversations leading to big life decisions, heartfelt memories of times with loved ones… they were all equally precious to her.

Her collection had begun while at Hogwarts, when she'd first learned the spell necessary to pull a memory from oneself in an advanced Charms Club lecture. But it wasn't long before she was asking for others' memories as well- first Narcissa's memory of the day she'd met Lucius, then Bellatrix's memory of one of the tea parties they'd been forced to attend as children (where Bella had dropped a toad down Mrs. Abbot's robes).

And then she'd fine tuned her art.

Whereas others who pulled out memories left nothing to be retrieved by the most accomplished Legilimens- faint whispers of the event, specific details blurring into the background and going unnoticed in the fog of one's mind- Andromeda made a point to only take copies of the events so sacred to others. Memories were not lost forever- they were documented, shared, given value outside one's own mind.

As word spread slowly of her experiments, more and more people offered her memories for her collection- alongside a promise to be able to review them upon request.

Ted Tonks had come to her the first day after Christmas break their sixth year and told her that he had several memories for her. Andromeda had been surprised- not because he was the first muggleborn to offer her memories, not because he was a Huffelpuff (she'd long since come to realize the Hufflepuffs didn't take stock in the rumors about her family)- but because she actually knew who he was. Ted Tonks had, after all, been at all the same advanced Charms Club lectures she had been for the past six years. And while they'd not spoken but a handful of words in passing- why should they? He tall and handsome and popular, she the quietest of the Blacks- she had noticed his expression when he listened to the lecturer more than once. Quiet awe, a sense of reverence. An appreciation for the knowledge being handed to him that made Andromeda sharply aware of what advantages she had grown up with.

She'd agreed to take his memories- just the copies, of course- in one of the dozens of unused classrooms between their dorms in the dungeons. The fire he lit surprised her, as did the transfigured chairs. It wasn't just charms he excelled at, then.

"Are you quite sure you give me permission?"

Ted had looked back at her, shaking blonde curls out of trusting eyes. "Of course. Whenever you're ready."

She explained to him how to focus on the specific memories he wanted her to copy, walked him through the incantation she would use to guide and copy his memories. When they finally completed Andromeda's most sacred ritual, there were six carefully bottled groups of memories sitting on the low table beside them and Andromeda was breathing heavily.

"I'd like you to watch them on your own," Ted said quietly. "I've been told that isn't your normal practice- you watch them with your donors."

Andromeda must have looked wary, because he grinned. "Look, if you can't get to them by tomorrow, that's ok. I'll wait here for you every night at 7 sharp for the next two weeks. And if you don't show up, I'll get it."

Before Andromeda could protest- or even question- Ted had slipped quietly from the room, leaving her sitting with a roaring fire and bottles of his memories.

She'd watched him all day the next day. Peeked around Narcissa's white blonde hair at breakfast as her younger sister complained about Lucius having the audacity to even glance at one of the Greengrass girls. Stared over the cover of her Potions book in the library. Glanced between the branches of her plant in Herbology. Andromeda wasn't sure what she was looking for, wasn't sure why she was wary of the Hufflepuff boy's request for her to watch his memories alone, but she watched.

That night, she did not meet him.

The pattern continued for the next three days. Andromeda decided that he was annoyingly pretty- all blonde curls and brown eyes and tanned skin and lanky puppy awkwardness in his limbs. He was certainly kind- she wasn't sure if he had a compulsion on him or if he just genuinely enjoyed going out of his way to help first years, to assist professors, to coach panicking house mates through their in class work. He was funny, but in an exasperating way- Andromeda had never heard ridiculous jokes like his before, she was used to the cutting commentary of her family dinners.

He was the least scary person she had ever observed- not that she had ever gone out of her way to study someone like this before- but she remained wary of his memories.

And for a full week, she did not meet him.

It was, surprisingly, a letter from Bellatrix (freshly turned out upon the world and married, pursuing some odd apprenticeship in old magic that she spoke very little of) that made up her mind. "Sweet Meda, I hope you have remembered who you are and have kept the lessers in their place in my absence. I am anxious to see what you are capable of. Someday soon I will call upon you to become the force of nature I know you can grow to be if you abandon some of your more stringent morals."

Andromeda hadn't kept the school terrified of the Black name in her older sister's absence. She didn't want to be a force of nature, and she didn't want to be called on by anyone for anything. Andromeda wanted to keep quietly collecting memories and studying emotions.

Memories and emotions- she was not afraid of them compared to the future. She could handle the muggleborn Hufflepuff's memories.

She had been given a Pensieve not long after she expressed her interest in memories and understanding them better- Grandfather Pollux had given her one of his nervous smiles and whispered that she shouldn't tell her Grandmother before explaining how to use the semi-rare magical device. The Pensieve went with her where she did, shrunk down by a charm Grandfather Pollux insisted she learn and hidden behind a half dozen notice-me-not spells in her heavily warded trunk. (By now, everyone knew it was kept there- but Andromeda was a Black, and Bellatrix had only been two years ahead of her, and so they would not dare consider touching it.)

On the night she watched Ted's memories, she took the Pensieve to one of the potions practice rooms- so rarely used that most students knew nothing of them- and set up near the fireplace after locking the door no less than seven times. Andromeda promised her donors confidentiality- the number of students who had given her memories of cheating, of eavesdropping, of private moments and discussions made it mandatory.

She poured in the first set of memories, took a deep breath, and dove in.

It took a second to realize where she was- awkwardly sliding over the water as she followed the first year boats on the way to be sorted. In front of her sat what appeared to be 11 year old Ted Tonks, a Ravenclaw named Elijah Wood, and…. Herself?

Andromeda had no recollection of who she had shared the boat with.

"I read that no one tells you how you'll be sorted because its so scary," Elijah was saying, his gaze on Ted's shaking form clearly a little malicious. "Maybe we get to fight trolls!"

"But I don't- I mean I've only just-," Ted sounded a bit uncertain, cutting himself off hesitantly.

"Tosh." Had she really said that? "Don't be so silly. The sorting is perfectly safe and likely quite boring and all that will happen is you'll be placed where you need to go. And would you hold still? You're going to upset the boat, and my sister will hex me if I get my hair wet."

Bemused, Andromeda allowed herself to be swept away by wispy vapors into the next memory scene in the Great Hall. The sorting was clearly underway- Juno Barmes was shuffling towards Gryffindor anxiously- and then, "Black, Andromeda!" rang through the air.

Andromeda forced herself to watch the young incarnation of Ted rather than herself- he had a peculiar hopeful expression on his face as he tracked her progress to the stool in the center of the Great Hall. He waited with the rest for several long moments- unlike her older sister, Andromeda had not been an automatic "Slytherin!". Her Grandfather Pollux had, after all, often told her she was nigh serious enough for Ravenclaw.

But the sorting eventually came, and Andromeda slipped off the stool to join the other snakes.

"Know much about Slytherin?" Ted Tonks asked the boy beside him casually- Lucius Malfoy himself. How unfortunate.

The Malfoy heir wrinkled his nose. "Whats it matter to you? Slytherin would never let in a mudblood."

Andromeda had heard the slur a million times, but hearing it directed at a child who she knew was more passionate about magic that Lucius Malfoy could ever hope to be? It felt… wrong.

Andromeda was swept away again, the world this time reforming around her in the shape of the Charms classroom- still first year, based on the decorations and the size of the students. Ted Tonks had clearly found his friends in Hufflepuff- he was settled securely between Maxwell Moffat and Edgar Bones in the front row of the Hufflepuff section.

"I am excited to invite each of you to join us in further exploring charms- there are so many wonderful things outside of what we will be able to cram into our classes together that may benefit you, or even give you some idea of what you want from your futures." Professor Fortinabas beamed out at the class, brandishing a long sheet of parchment in one hand. "Please write down your name on your way out if you're interested in being invited to our first meeting."

She tacked the parchment on the wall before continuing her end of class announcements.

"Who wants to do extra school work?" Andromeda rolled her eyes at Maxwell as he tipped his chair back onto two legs. "Swot stuff, that."

"You're just worried you'll grab your wand by the wrong end again," Edgar teased lightly before nudging Ted. "You gonna do it?"

"Eh, I dunno- I prefer Transfiguration so far."

Andromeda was surprised- after all, she knew Ted had signed up and then been one of the club's most devoted attendees. So why…?

Professor Fortinabas released the class with her trademark airy, "And be good till I see you again, children!" and Andromeda ghosted to the board to watch the first year signing up for the Charms Club. She'd forgotten that this was a shared class with Slytherin, which meant that-

Sure enough, her younger self was the first to approach the board. Cooly confident, first year Andromeda signed her name in a curling script that had been beaten into habit by multiple governesses. Once again, Andromeda had to stop herself from studying her younger self and focus on Ted… who was watching her?

Startled, Andromeda watched Ted's eyes stare seriously at the back of his head before, hopping down the stairs, he signed his own name right after hers.

"Changed your mind, huh?"

Ted sent Edgar a wide grin. "Might as well give it a shot, right?"

Andromeda was whisked into the fog again, this time opening her eyes to find herself in the real world outside of the Pensieve. A little disoriented, she carefully rebottled the assortment of memories, pausing before she dumped the second bottle into the Pensieve. There was something that she was missing- but she wasn't quite sure what. And really, did she want to figure it out?

The image of Ted Tonks' open, honest face came to mind and she dumped in his next vial of memories.

She found herself in the foggy memory of second year, where Ted Tonks stared in dismay at the baby mandrake plant in front of him. "Uhm, so, these are actually plants?"

"Of course, Mr. Tonks."

"And we… chop them up and use them in potions?"

"Very specific potions, but yes."

"But they seem very… alive. Isn't that a bit questionable?"

The Herbology teacher appeared to be trying to hide her smile as she raised her voice to the class. "And who can tell me why using mandrakes in potions is a harmless practice?"

Andromeda started when it was her younger self who was called on. "Mandrakes are classified as plants instead of as magical creatures for three reasons- first, they are fed via photosynthesis and flourish with fertilizer, which is a sign of being a plant. Second, like plants and unlike creatures, they are incapable of feeling pain and have no actual brain. Thirdly, the similarities between madrakes and humanoid creatures is only a defensive mechanism on part of the plant itself."

Ted Tonks visibly relaxed, sending a grateful smile in her oblivious direction.

Unsure of the significance of the event, Andromeda was struggling to think of why Ted had given her such a commonplace memory as the fog reformed itself around her. Now she was in the Charms Club room, during a meeting which she remembered very well- after all, it was where her obsession had begun.

Ted Tonks was sitting near her, three empty seats between them. He was paying perfect attention to the lecture- perfect attention, except for glancing her way every ten minutes or so to see how she was reacting to the lecturer's words. At the very end, when he stood up to leave he shot her a wide grin. "Super interesting stuff, right?"

But Andromeda had already darted off to catch the lecturer before he left, anxious to have more questions answered and oblivious to the now downcast Hufflepuff.

Andromeda was frowning when she emerged from the Pensieve this time, and quickly switched out the second and third bottles before diving right back in.

She had never visited the Hufflepuff common room, but she knew it on sight- the wide round windows, the yellow walls, the cheery plants all indicated she had entered the badgers' den. On ridiculously overstuffed couches in the center of the room (honestly, her mother would blow them apart after a glance) Ted Tonks lounged with his friends, all three of their noses buried in Quidditch magazines.

"Say, Edgar, what do you think of the changes to the Harpies roster?" Maxwell grinned as Edgar turned bright red behind his magazine. "Who would have thought you'd be able to buy a full size poster of your crush soon? 'Course, half the blokes in London'll also have Vauntley on their walls, but-,"

Cut off by a pillow to the face, Maxwell fell over howling in mock outrage before tossing a pillow back at poor embarrassed Edgar.

"Just jealous that there's no one who would ever fancy your ugly arse, admit," Edgar taunted, eyes sparkling and clearly prepared to wrestle.

Tedd groaned. "Could you both please not rip the new mags? I haven't been through them all!"

"And of course there's no sadder tale than that of your love, Teddy my boy," Maxwell hopped back onto the couch, slinging an arm around Ted's suddenly stiff shoulders.

"Ah yes, the elusive love of his life, destined to never know he exists."

"Oh shove off- she knows I exist." Ted paused. "I think."

The next memory was back in the Charms Club room, where Andromeda realized Ted was once again sitting exactly three empty seats away from her. Based on the single braid down her back, it was third year- Bella hadn't thought it appropriate for her baby sister to wear the more mature hairstyle till she was thirteen despite Bella's own notoriously free curls.

She barely remembered this particular lecture- discussing variations of household charms- but it had clearly been important to Ted if he had included it in the set of memories. She knew the awed expression on his face well- it had always been the single most interesting thing about Ted Tonks, the way he loved magic so passionately. At the very end of the memory, Andromeda watched her younger self nearly stumble over Ted's book bag on her way out of the room.

"Oh, wow, I'm really sorry Black." Ted's face was split between horror and delight, bright red spots blooming on both cheeks.

"No harm done," younger Andromeda said idly, not even looking at him as she continued out of the room.

Ted's memories flew by quickly- and Andromeda found herself featured in almost all of them. Snippets on near-conversations, missed chances to actually say something- dozens of them across the past six years. In some memories, Ted was with his friends and they would tease him about his unrequited love- always leaving Ted perfectly defiant and convinced he would be seen eventually.

It was a memory from the first term of sixth year, however, that confirmed Andromeda's hesitant and shocked suspicion.

"Oh, Teddy boy, I heard Narcissa Black saying that her big sis was going to Hogsmeade with Rosier," Maxwell slid onto the bench at what appeared to be lunch, grinning at Edgar over Ted's shoulder.

"Rosier? Oh dear, Ted- those curly blonde good looks of yours might not be able to stand a chance against Mr. Pure Pureblood himself!" Edgar's mock distress was enough to earn him a sharp glare from Ted.

"It's such a shame you didn't ask her first- maybe during one of your stimulating conversations?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Maxy- they don't talk!"

"Ah, well then perhaps through your particularly suave use of body language?"

"It's a shame she never looks at him!"

Maxwell shook his head mournfully. "Truly a trial. The most doomed love of all time, one might say."

"Would you pricks knock it off?" Ted demanded, and Andromeda watched in shock as he stared glumly across the room at the Slytherin table- at her.

"Would you just find your stones and tell her so you can get rejected and move on already?" Maxwell countered, and Ted threw potatoes at his head.

Andromeda was reeling by the time she left the last of Ted's memories. Running a hand through her hair, she stared blankly at the the Pensieve for several long minutes before carefully, as if handling an explosive material, rebottling and setting aside the last of Ted's freely offered memories.

Well, he had found his stones. Maxwell was probably thrilled.

But how on earth could he feel that way, when they'd never had a full discussion? Could you even care about someone with that little knowledge of their character?

Andromeda thought about the boy she had watched obsessively over the past week, and wondered if it was indeed possible.

Three more days passed before she decided to meet him- three long, agonizing days where she thought about her family, about what she had been raised to believe, about the absolute nonexistent chance she could publicly date a muggle born. Thought about the repercussions if she tried.

But when she saw him waiting for her, cautiously hopeful as he glanced up at the opening door, those thoughts melted away.

"I'm a Black," she had warned, and he laughed.

"I know. But might as well give it a shot, right?"

And so they did.

They met in secret- their favored classroom, the Astronomy Tower, other hidden holes of the castle. It helped they were both prefects. Andromeda was wonderfully, blissfully happy as Ted introduced her to muggle wonders like movies- and how close they were to memories in a pensieve in some ways!- and science fiction books. She was so happy, in fact, that she forgot to be careful.

"I know you've been having a good time at school," Bella had said as she laid across Andromeda's bed. "And I guess I can't blame you- some of those mudbloods would probably be a good ride even if they are disgusting on principle. But it'll need to end immediately. Father's decided that you'll marry the summer after you graduate."

Andromeda's mind reeled- Narcissa, surely, had been the one to rat her out to Bellatrix, but what was this about a wedding?

"You'll be marrying into the Nott family," her father had said firmly at dinner that night.

"But… I didn't realize there was a Nott my age," Andromeda commented diplomatically.

"He's older, but a firm hand would do you well Andromeda. You're a tad... spacey. But you're beautiful, and he can admire that even if he does wonder at your obsession with memories. He may even allow you to continue it."

May even allow you to continue it.

Andromeda went back to school and showed Ted the memory. She didn't cry- she had done that months ago. She didn't ask for his opinion or his help- she needed neither. She just wanted him to know- needed him to understand.

But to her surprise, he instead asked her a question.

"Andromeda Black. Will you give up your whole world and marry me instead?"

On the night of graduation, Andromeda packed two trunks with everything she wanted from her childhood home- including a favored painting of herself with her sisters, and several old heirlooms, and her entire memory collection. She wrote a long note, blasted herself off the family tree with a confident burning hex, and walked out into the night to marry Ted Tonks.

Her family hadn't accepted it quite that easily, of course. Bellatrix in particular had been… unamused.

"You're choosing a mudblood over your family?" Bellatrix stood raging on her doorstep in the rain, odd dark robes hanging off her thin frame like a collapsed tent. "How dare you do this to me Meda! You are coming home at once!"

Andromeda had rolled her eyes. "It isn't about you, Bella- I love you all, but I wanted a choice."

"Ok, fine! I'll kill Nott tomorrow so you won't have to marry him- then will you come home?"

"Bella! You can't just go around killing people to get what you want!"

Except, Bella clearly had been doing exactly that. The rumor mill was flooded with who exactly Bella's 'apprenticeship' had been for.

She'd come back several times, once with Narcissa, who she shook like a rag doll in Andromeda's direction. "You've broken her heart!" the oldest Black sister accused savagely while Narcissa attempted to look more sad than put out.

"Pity. I'm pregnant, by the way- definitely not getting a divorce now."

"Ew," Narcissa wrinkled her nose in a perfect impression of her beau. "You're going to birth a half blood, Meda. Gross."

Andromeda rolled her eyes.

It was only when Bella took it upon herself to "helpfully" kill of her husband that Andromeda lost her patience. Bellatrix Lestrange got a good look at the force of nature she had once so wanted to be released.

"That is enough!" Andromeda shrieked, auburn curls crackling with magic and anger. "I am done with your interference- I am NOT a Black anymore, I am a TONKS!"

Andromeda rather savored that particular memory. Sometimes, when she was scared by some antic of her child or news article about the Death Eaters' movements, she watched it to remind herself that no one on the planet would stand between her and the family she had actually chosen. Certainly not the family she had left behind.

Not that she didn't occasionally pay homage to her roots- Nymphandora's middle name (Lyra) was a prime example, and she'd been following the paper chronicles of the changes in House Black with a surprising amount of interest.

Not enough interest to prepare herself for the visitor who appeared on her doorstep one rainy Monday morning no different than the first time Bellatrix had visited.

Andromeda prayed for patience as she eyed the glamorous socialite her spoilt little sister had grown into. "Oh, hello Narcissa. I suppose you'll be wanting tea?"


	20. Sister Sister

_November 30, 1981_

_Tonks Residence, Salisbury_

Narcissa wrinkled her nose as she settled onto Andromeda's mauve couch, eyeing the morning tea spread laid out on the clear glass coffee table before her. "How incredibly…. Modern."

"I restyled last winter for the fun of it- I have an interior designer out of Italy who likes to keep me ahead of the most recent trends." Andromeda smiled pleasantly from her seat in a patterned wingback chair, the tight grip on her teacup her only outward sign of tension.

" _Muggle_ trends, you mean," Narcissa clarified, as if the weight of that first word might knock sense into her sister.

But Andromeda just nodded an easy agreement.

"Certainly- much quicker to change their mind on what is and isn't vogue, muggles are. And I do hate to be… unfashionably outdated. What prompted your visit, Cissy?"

Narcissa smiled with her lips pressed tightly together as she ignored the barb. "It's simply been a long time since we've been able to visit one another, Meda. It seemed like I should rectify that."

"Lie one- I'll give you four more before I kick you out of my house." Andromeda was so cheerful in her threat that Narcissa had to think for a moment to catch it.

"Why, I never! I'm sure I don't know what you-,"

"Lie two- only three left Narcissa, best use them wisely. Really, I know that silvered tongue works on most people, but I've always found you quite transparent."

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "Hardly- If I was so transparent, I wouldn't have convinced you and Bella that you'd been stealing one another's pudding, would I have? You didn't see through that till you'd yanked each other's hair out in front of Grandmother."

Andromeda's faint wince was proof that her grandmother's punishment for unladylike behavior over _pudding_ of all things was still deeply felt. "Do wind around back to the point, would you Cissy?"

"We selected a new Head of House Black- Grandfather Pollux's sister Aunt Cassiopeia. The swot who took over Chateau Black? Before she did the Materfamilias ritual, she claimed she could save the family from ruin. I thought she was a safe enough bet- a strong House Black can only advantage my son- so I voted for her over Uncle Arcturus." Narcissa looked faintly uncomfortable, as if she still wasn't quite certain she had made the right decision but was going to claim she had till her dying day.

Believable- Andromeda had no doubt that the youngest of the infamous Black sisters was more uncomfortable with plain fact than than the fiction she had planned to spin.

"Cassiopeia's plan for the family apparently revolves around fixing our public image- and if you read the papers at all, you'll see she's already started quite the uproar. You should have also seen that Wally murdered her husband- Aunt Cassiopeia plans to use the funeral as a publicity stunt. And since she is going for a better image, I suggested that she bring some family members with less than desirable connections back into the fold."

"Lie three- two left."

Without missing a beat: "And since she is going for a better image, she suggested that I help her bring some family members with less than desirable connections back into the fold. "

Much better.

"Aunt Cassiopeia's found a new heir for the Black name- with my assistance of course- and plans to announce her to the family at the funeral. I wanted to make sure to visit beforehand, so you could join us."

"That one was painfully obvious- getting less sharp with age? Only one lie left now Narcissa."

"Aunt Cassiopeia's found a new heir for the Black name- who I have met once- and plans to announce her to the family at the funeral. She asked me to make sure you would join us for the occasion.".

Certainly more believable. Andromeda wondered a bit at the word 'asked'- Cissy detested being asked to do things- but decided to let the explanation pass. Might as well leave her sister a shred of her pride.

"So Aunt Cassiopeia has decided to press her only advantages, has she? I'd be interested to know more, but I'm guessing she hasn't entrusted you with more, has she? You were on the wrong side of the war after all." Andromeda sighed irritably as her baby sister bristled.

"Lucius was cleared of all-,"

"Really, Narcissa, have some tea, you look positively peaky."

"Aunt Cassiopeia did cut off Bella- though the whole world seems to know that by now. And she's been playing with the family tree for weeks now." Narcissa threw out the tidbit with all the graciousness of a buzzing bee, torn between her desire to snap back and her goal of making nice with her sister.

"Old news, that. Aunt Cassiopeia does understand I am a package deal?"

Narcissa grimaced. "She quite insists that you be."

"Interesting, and more interesting yet I suppose. Well, I'll come, if only to see how twisted your knickers get seeing Ted at a formal Black family function. I will remind you once, and you must pass this along: I took my own name off that family tapestry once, and if I don't like the new direction House Black is taking I'll do it again."

Surprised out of her strained frown, Narcissa gaped. "You took your own name off? Father always claimed he did it the second he read your note. No wonder he was so pouty- you quite derived him his satisfaction. He was miserable to live with for months after."

Andromeda's laughter was cut off as Narcissa continued. "Did you ever consider that you had abandoned me to deal with our parents through the fallout of your broken engagement? Not that I blame you- I wouldn't have wanted to marry someone older than Grandfather either. But there are other- much better- ways of doing things, Meda."

Andromeda looked a tad uncomfortable. "At least me leaving meant father decided to give you whoever you wanted if it meant you marrying a pureblood- I'd say you and Lucius owe me one."

"Yes, up a husband and down the only sane sister- quite the tradeoff, that." Naricissa's dry comment was met with a cat like grin

"If you can forgive me for abandoning you to father's dramatics- and Bella's, Morganna knows that Bella's were probably worse- then I suppose I could concede to forgive you for letting Bella try to kill my husband. And for never sending a wedding present."

"Forgiveness, Meda? Really! How _plebeian_ of you!"

"Well, if you'd rather I tell Aunt Cassiopeia about the long list of reasons I'm much to offended by you to accept your _generous_ invitation back into the fold-,"

"So trite! But fine- we can _forgive_ one another. And you will all come to Orion's funeral, won't you?"

"Ted and I, certainly."

"Oh no, absolutely not- you can't leave your daughter at home!" The panic on Narcissa's face as she remembered the chest crushing press of Cassiopeia's magically enforced order was clear.

"Why Cissy, you do seem concerned- could it be you promised to get us all here and are afraid what would happen if you didn't?"

"What do you want, Meda?"

Andromeda crossed her ankles. "Two public dinners with our combined families where you and Lucius have to smile the whole time, _and_ you call Nymphadora your "darling, beautiful niece" for the rest of your life."

"And they say Bella is the crazy one!" Narcissa's blue eyes bulged as she stared at her older sister in disbelief.

"Oh, she is. I'm the cruel one. If it's a consolation, you're definitely the devious one."

Narcissa's expression was anything but consoled as she weighed her options. Finally, "What does your hellion- I'm sorry, _my_ _darling, beautiful niece-_ look like anyways? Hopefully she isn't as muggle looking as her father."

"You and I both know Ted is the farthest thing from unattractive." Andromeda smirked smugly as she summoned a photo album from the shelf. "This is Nymphadora."

The photo spread began with a chubby baby with bright blue eyes and blonde curls like Ted Tonks'- but Narcissa furrowed her brow as, as she flipped pages- the child's eyes, hair, and even skin tone changed. Then her features flopped, and finally-, "Good heavens, is she a metamorphmagus?"

"Ah, you noticed then. Yes, amazing what happens when you don't inbreed for a generation, isn't it?" Andromeda was a bit smug. "The last photo is her normal daily appearance."

"Pretty- favors you of course," Narcissa said critically. "It's a shame she didn't inherit the curls past infancy, they would have been striking."

"Your darling, beautiful niece goes _well_ out of her way to avoid curls."

Narcissa looked surprised- likely because she had spent the first half of her life jealous of her sisters' full bodied hair. (Fortunately, Lucius had reassured her half a million times that he, at least, preferred her silky straight hair over any other option.)

"Is she bright?"

Narcissa had always had a weakness for children- particularly bright, beautiful children with potential. Broadening their minds, their ambitions…. Cultivating the 'younger set' was the most Slytherin of her ambitions, and had started with her favorite dolls and cousins as a very young girl.

Andromeda was hyper aware of the cards she was putting on the table, and how they would be received.

"Of course she is- the only thing she lacks is grace."

If Narcissa was surprised Andromeda would disparage her daughter, it didn't show. Instead, she nodded thoughtfully. "I could probably do something about that."

"Could you?"

Contemplatively: "I rather wanted a girl- not that I'd trade my sweet little dragon. But you know the Malfoys- it takes more than magic to produce a second."

Long, perfectly manicured fingers tapped impatiently on the little girl's photograph.

"Alright Meda- how about this: Four dinners with both our families- at the manor, not in public- where Lucius engages your mudblood husband in conversation for precisely three minutes. In exchange, weekly tea for us and the girl where I can work on her deportment, and you all come to the funeral."

Andromeda pretended to consider the offer, privately marveling at how her younger sister's self-interests were still so easy to play off of. It was a shame Bella hadn't been so manageable- they might have been spared several bouts of theatrics.

"I'll counter- monthly dinners through 1982, with every other month taking place in a muggle location. You have to speak for Ted for 15 minutes each. In return, I'll agree to monthly tea parties and our full attendance at the funeral. I'll throw in pretending we're a happy family in front of Aunt Cassiopeia for free."

Displeased with the direction the bargain had taken, Narcissa shook her head minutely. "Monthly dinners for a year, but the ½ that take place in public have to be in a wizarding location of our choice. 10 minutes conversation per each of us with you mudblood, and in return bi-weekly teas."

"I don't know Cissy…. It doesn't seem like you'd really _enjoy_ yourself- and I'd so hate to put you out. Are you sure it's worth it to you?"

To Andromeda's surprise, Narcissa saw clearly through her feigned hesitation. "We both know perfectly well that you'll agree to Aunt Cassiopeia's request- it's what's best for your daughter, and you've always put family first. Well, _almost_ always."

"Unlike you, who always puts herself first? Well, almost always." Andromeda mimicked.

(Thirty years ago, Bella would have hexed them both and put their sniping to bed- but Bella had long since taken herself out of the equation.)

"It may surprise you, but _I_ have grown up since Hogwarts- I'm not 15 and waiting for you to come home and slide into bed with me to hear my secrets anymore, Andromeda." Narcissa's voice was ice cold.

"I didn't know-,"

"Of course you didn't know! You were _gone_."

Andromeda laughed bitterly. "When did you ever need anyone, Cissy? Bella needed us both- no, Bella felt she needed to _own_ us both. I spent half my time keeping her out of trouble- but you, Narcissa? You never needed anyone."

"Up one husband, down the only sane sister, remember? I did need you- you don't know how much Mother and Father were relying on your marriage to Nott, or how much Bella was using you to mellow out her temper. When you left it all came crashing down on _me._ And then I needed you." Narcissa stood abruptly, twirling around to stare out the window.

"I would have been there for you if you had pulled your head out of your arse and stopped being a prejudiced bint about the person I chose to love!" Andromeda huffed, but understanding was flitting over her features. "Cissy- I know you don't only care about yourself. I know you care about your family too."

Narcissa's stiff shoulders relaxed minutely. "Then I'll remind you that you and your daughter are my family. I know you get nothing but sick pleasure watching me have to interact with your mudblood husband, but-,"

"No, Cissy. You're thinking like Bella- and Morgana knows where that path leads. Yes, we are your family- but you're _our_ family too, just like Ted is. And I may have blasted that damned family tree on my way out the door, but I haven't given up the idea of a happy family that visits at Christmas."

"That would be impossible," Narcissa murmured, but she turned back around to face her sister, reaching out a hand for the briefest second like a darting butterfly. "We'd have to celebrate Yule. Lucius is quite traditional- we have a ball and everything."

Andromeda quickly caught Narcissa's hand as it started to fall away from her. "Ok, then. Yule. We can start with monthly dinners and teas and this ridiculous funeral, and we can see about Yule after that."

"It'll be slow going. I refuse to promise to like your mudblood- to like you husband."

"I know. I just want you to be polite."

"And I still want to hex you, even if we are _forgiving_ each other. Seriously- when did you become so common?"

"It's ok, I still want to hex you too. We probably will eventually."

"I suppose it will be good for Draco to have more cousins to play with… Even if they are half bloods. At least she's a metamorphmagus- haven't had one of those in the family for a while."

"We're certainly incredibly proud of her. I imagine when we get to know your son, we'll be proud of him too."

Taking a deep breath, Narcissa looked at her older sister with an intensity that could burn. "You still keep memories, don't you? I would hope so- since it's part of why you left."

"Of course I do." Surprised, Andromeda gestured vaguely towards a doorway with her free hand. "I've made a career of studying them, just like I said I would."

"I've memories that I'd like you to have- copies, of course. Just like you used to. Memories that maybe if you watch… maybe we can..." Incredibly uncomfortable with both her emotions and the position she found herself in, Narcissa cut herself off abruptly and looked sharply away.

"Might as well give it a shot, right?"


	21. Longbottom

_December 2, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

Cassiopeia glanced at her house elf over her tea cup and frowned. "Pip, is something the matter?"

If Pip had seemed agitated that morning- Cassiopeia couldn't recall the elf having ever spilled the jam before- she now seemed positively _antsy_. Bat-like ears were twitching uncontrollably, and instead of carefully listing which poisonous plants were in bloom as she always did during Wednesday's afternoon tea, she was just… staring.

Well, glaring, really.

"Missy Cassiopeia is pushing back her schedule for _days_ \- Pip is seeing now that it has been _97 hours_ since Missy Cassiopeia was supposed to be collecting the Longbottoms!" Reminding Cassiopeia rather uncomfortably of a collapsed dam, Pip's squeaky anguish over the misbegotten schedule flooded the room. "Missy is not going to be having enough time before the funeral if she doesn't stick to the schedule! Pip is making Missy new schedules, but Missy is going to the zoo and staying home and _eating biscuits_!"

Both brows raised in surprise, Cassiopeia glanced down towards her stomach. She supposed her biscuit consumption had increased a bit lately, but-, "Pip, you do make the best biscuits- really, have you changed recipes recently? Now that you mention it, I must say the selection has greatly improved as of late."

"Pip was finding an old Black cookbook in the attic while smashing attic gnomes for therapeutic purposes- Missy is liking the new recipes better then?" Pip's beaming pleasure didn't last long, features quickly falling back into an accusatory glare. "Missy Cassiopeia is missing the point!"

"Why Pip, I've never seen you like this- not even about a schedule, though I dare say I've never made you wait a whopping 96 hours for something before," Cassiopeia mused wryly, peering closely at her house elf as if checking for signs of illness or perhaps nargles.

"Missy was telling Pip to take care of everything else- the schedule is being _very important_ for Pip to be taking care of everything else! Pip's schedule for the house is all out of whack now too! The tentacular venom slingers hasn't even been getting pruned this week!" Slumping onto the floor miserably, Pip engaged herself in yet another behavior no self respecting house elf would consider: a crying fit.

"Oh come now, Pip, this is silly! We can get the Longbottoms in due time, and you'll catch up- do I need to order you to do something? Would that make you feel better?"

The wailing got louder, accentuated by Pip kicking the floor intermittently.

"Goodness! You ridiculous elf- what if we got the Longbottoms today, then would you quit this madness?"

The crying stopped, but Pip fairly exploded off the floor with wide eyes, wringing her hands mercilessly. "Oh Missy Cassiopeia no! We should be waiting till tomorrow morning so we can be doing it the right way- today Pip is going to clean the kitchen!"

Entirely befuddled, Cassiopeia nodded slowly. "Ok. After breakfast, we will go and retrieve the Longbottom's. Now do you feel alright?"

The little elf beamed and nodded, all signs of tantrum vanished.

"Wonderful. You can go, er, clean the kitchen now. And Pip?"

"Yes, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"Please bring me more biscuits."

"Pip is bringing them right away!"

Cassiopeia stared up at the ceiling fresco in the parlor and sighed as her house elf disappeared.

Well, the Blacks were known for being a bit mad- it wasn't much of a stretch to assume that just maybe their elves had inherited a touch of that madness too.

* * *

_December 3, 1981_

_St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London_

When Cassiopeia was a very little girl, her mother had proudly volunteered her twins for magical studies and dumped them in the research wing of St. Mungo's for eleven months.

The study was run by a popular young Healer interested in determining how to boost the pureblood magical population through multiple births- a cause many of the traditional families flocked behind. Most British purebloods were grudgingly aware that what had once been a list of over 100 families had been whittled down to the Sacred 28, and they were thrilled that someone- a Healer! A highly educated researcher! A man with the right breeding!- was publicly declaring his intent to ensure no further decline occurred.

Violetta Black was not particularly interested in the success of the research or even the "good" it would do the wizarding world- why should she be, when it accomplished two goals of her own? Firstly, it gave her the chance to smugly wave her successful multiple birth (sure to both be magically powerful, she remarked) in the faces of the other Sacred 28 families. Secondly, it gave her an excuse to not look at or participate in caring for two of her children for 11 months.

Marius had once remarked to Cassiopeia that their mother and her self-serving overconfidence had likely cursed him, not some spell in the womb. Cassiopeia had considered it for barely a moment before shaking her head in full agreement.

Surprisingly, the hospital was not as unforgiving an environment for two small children as one might expect. Yes, the poking and prodding and constant mental and physical tests were vexing when one's life priorities still revolved around nap time and snacks. Yes, it was quite the shock to go from the overflowing Black family nursery to the quiet coolness of the hospital. But aside from a bout with abandonment issues (which Agnes would later make Marius discuss in full detail during therapy), the two were perfectly content to be down one dramatic mama, at least for the short term.

(It should be mentioned that they did rather miss Pollux, the pushover who had ensured that snack time was all of the time, and they even condescended to miss The Baby- as they then called Dorea- who, for all of her squishiness, made a nice doll.)

Cassiopeia credited (and her mother blamed) the whole experience for her love of research- she still had faint memories of peering into experimental potions pots with Marius tugging on the back of her robes to keep her from falling in.

Unfortunately, the popular young Healer's ambitions were also his blinders- he was unwilling to consider 'muggle science' as he worked towards any conclusive results from his studies. When his assistant proposed reading into the work of George Mendel or William Bateson, he scoffed and kicked her off the project. Muggles determine the cause of twins before the magicals? Preposterous, he shouted when a second assistant tentatively suggested the same.

(When Marius wrote to Cassiopeia in the early 40's and told her about the discoveries that muggles had made in the field of genetics and how it likely related to the Multiple Magical Births project, she had learned something important about not ignoring muggles and their science.)

After 11 months of minimal progress and certainly no solution for forcing multiple births on pureblood families to increase their overall population, the project disbanded and the Black twins- by now the darlings of the hospital- were sent home. Violetta promised to take them back for visits, but the closest she'd get to a hospital was the annual charity ball, so eventually the twins' relationships with most of the Healers and researchers on staff fizzled away into memory.

Most of, but not all.

Healer Whittington, once a young researcher silenced by the Hospital for her ideas on combining muggle and magical processes for improved results, was now the Head of the Janus Thickey Ward for long term residents addled by magical means.

"Why if it isn't little Miss Black!"

Cassiopeia glanced down at herself, then cocked an eyebrow at the older woman in front of her. "I'm hardly little anymore, ma'am," she felt inclined to point out.

Healer Whittington shrugged unconcernedly. Her once red hair had turned snow white over the years, though she still wore it in a long nine strand plait down her back. Wrinkles creased around her eyes and over her cheeks when she smiled- and it was the smile that Cassiopeia remembered so well.

"Little is as little does," she murmured, her eyes darting behind Cassiopeia, "And you- goodness- if it isn't the tiny terror himself!"

Marius shuffled his feet awkwardly behind Cassiopeia, blushing bright red before nodding politely.

"Goodness, I haven't seen you since you exploded half of the Eyes and Ears Potions Development room young man!" Healer Whittington's surprise got her up onto her feet, and she poked Marius in both cheeks. "Have you rejoined the magical world, then?"

"Ah, no, not exactly," Marius said hesitantly, shooting his sister a half-beseeching, half-murderous look that suggested vengeance if, after having dragged him from his office with absolutely no warning, she planned to abandon him to the prodding affection of the old researcher.

"What Marius means is that he never quite left," Cassiopeia said smoothly, "He's been managing family assets for decades now. But when I told him of my purpose today, he couldn't resist the urge to join me and say hello to you after all these years."

The half-beseeching expression turned one hundred percent murderous for a brief second before Marius sent Healer Whittington his absolute most charming grin.

"You always were a sweet one, weren't you?" the old lady affectionately patted Marius on the top of the head one more time before settling back into her oversized desk chair. "But Miss Black, what purpose do you mean? I'm quite certain I didn't have you down on my calendar for today."

Cassiopeia sank into the couch in front of Healer Whittington's cluttered desk, motioning for Marius to follow. "I do so apologize for the surprise- but I've come to see if I could possibly assist you with two of your newest residents."

Bright eyes sharpened perceptively. "You mean the Longbottoms, don't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"I hear it was your great niece- really, how on earth are you old enough to be a great-aunt already?- who put them in my ward."

Cassiopeia and Marius glanced at one another for a brief moment before Marius, still smiling, nodded. "Our great-niece, her husband, and the Crouch boy."

"I also hear you disowned them all."

Cassiopeia shook her head. "Only Bellatrix- one can't disown someone they never claimed in the first place."

"I've followed your progress quite closely, my dear, and I'm not quite sure how you think you can help them. The Mind Healers-,"

"Are full of rubbish, and we both know it." Cassiopeia's expression was unusually fierce. "I've collaborated with them more than once- they refuse to integrate modern muggle techniques into care, and they're content to write people off entirely if their meager attempts at healing aren't effe-,"

Marius's feigned coughing cut his sister off smoothly.

More calmly: "What I mean to say is- I don't know if I can help them ma'am. I just know there are likely options that haven't been considered."

Marius nudged her foot with his approvingly before nodding firmly. "Cass and I consider it our family's responsibility to attempt to right the wrongs that have occurred."

Healer Whittington stared at them both searchingly. "Callidora Longbottom has been by recently," she said abruptly. "She's been arguing with her sister in law Augusta over that poor young couple's care. Callidora was a Black herself, wasn't she?"

"Yes- our cousin."

"I see."

They sat in silence for a long moment, the twins wearing matching patient smiles, until Healer Whittington finally shrugged. "Alright then. You can start by walking me through your plans, and then we can talk about whether or not I'll support your case to Augusta."

"Lovely." Cassiopeia stood and clapped her hands once sharply. "Pip! Treatment board, if you please."

Both Marius and the Healer jumped when the house elf appeared with a sharp _crack_!ing noise.

"House elves are definitely not supposed to be able to get through the St. Mungo's wards!" Healer Whittington squeaked, hand clutched to her chest.

Pip smiled innocently. "Pip is bringing Missy Cassiopeia's treatment board."

"That'll be all Pip, thank you," Cassiopeia dismissed, ignoring any question of her house elf's uncanny ability to flit through locked wards in favor of turning to her newly created treatment board.

Much like her case board, the treatment board also stood on two tall wheeled legs and featured a spinning white board covered in an odd scattering of scrawled notes in red and black as well as what appeared to be (when one squinted very closely) chemical equations.

Cassiopeia flourished her wand, tapping the top corner of the board gently. "So far, I've come up with a six part plan to restore the Longbottom's minds. You'll likely be most interested in this bit here, Healer."

When squinting and tilting her head sideways had no effect on her understanding of the scrawl across the board, Healer Whittington shrugged. "And that is?"

Cassiopeia smiled brilliantly as she laid her trump card on the table. "This is the bit where we combine muggle science and old-fashioned witchcraft to the fullest degree."

It had been many, many years, but Healer Whittington still perfectly recalled being dismissed from a hugely profitable project for suggesting that very thing. It was with fire in her eyes that she nodded. "Tell me more."

* * *

Augusta Longbottom had visited her son and daughter-in-law every day since their brutal attack in their home.

She had hated every second.

Looking at her son, who had been the pride of the Auror force and (as far as she was concerned) one of the most promising wizards of the century, rendered so helpless was slowly killing her. Seeing her spitball daughter-in-law (a woman with a temper to rival Augusta's own) trapped in a constant state of fear was another knife in her heart.

And then there was Neville.

Despite what Callidora insisted, Augusta was resolutely convinced that the boy was going to be as permanently scarred as his parents. It had been she who had found him hidden away in the false panel of a closet behind hundreds of silencing and warding spells. While her son and daughter-in-law's determination to hide their only child had surely saved the boy, they had also sentenced him to two days alone in a dark hole in the wall with no one the wiser.

Augusta still felt guilty when she thought about how long he must have cried for her, for his parents, for anyone at all before he settled on the blank, shocked expression he had worn since she had found him. If only she had thought to search for him sooner. If only, if only, if only...

But that guilt was nothing compared to the guilt she felt when she signed the paperwork to admit Frank and Alice as long term residents of the Janus Thickney ward. _I should bring them home,_ she would think, and she'd determinedly set about to do just that- preparing a wing of the manor, researching home care assistance- right up until she saw them again, and she just….

Augusta just couldn't do it.

She couldn't bring them home and replace their happy, care-free ghosts with the living beings of despair she visited at the hospital every day. It hurt too much to consider further.

Augusta struggled for days and weeks with it, but her guilt didn't recede. Callidora suggested a mind healer- but Augusta considered that type of magic pure hogwash. Instead, she poured her efforts into the child Frank and Alice could no longer care for.

At first, she couldn't stare into her grandson's face (Alice's face) without crying. It was clearly upsetting for the child, but he continued to watch her warily, quietly, still with that shocked expression on his pudgy face.

And the guilt persisted.

When Callidora came for tea and explained that she had found someone who could help- indebted someone to help, it seemed- Augusta had felt only a glimmer of hope before she looked at the little boy in her lap and was consumed by rage.

"How dare you? How dare you promise us a solution! The hospital hasn't been able to find one, and now you want me to subject my son to experiments? Get out of my sight Callidora!"

Her sister in-law had left, an even more aggravating expression of pity on her face- but she had come back every day, joining Augusta on most of her hospital visits, to continue pressing the case.

"I will never accept help from a Black," Augusta had hissed one day, and Callidora had become cold.

"Then I suppose you shouldn't have named a Black Frank's godmother," came the flat response before Augusta (flush with a now familiar sense of overwhelming guilt) watched her glide out of the ward with tension in her shoulders.

It had been a few days, but Callidora had come back and not mentioned the incident again. Instead, she told stories about Cassiopeia Black, who had found a solution for her Squib brother that didn't involve a quick end to a brief life. Who had discovered a Potion that helped soothe the unfortunate side effects of many magical maladies. Who had been commissioned by governments around the world to find a Potions based solution for dozens if not hundreds of issues. Who had come to England to right a set of wrongs committed by others.

Augusta was still angry, but barraged by Callidora's constant praise for her cousin's work, she couldn't help but listen.

Still, she refused to accept the help. Alice and Frank were settling in, she insisted weakly, they didn't need to be experimented on. What if the experiments made them worse?

Callidora looked at her godson and his wife critically, and shrugged. "Even death might be better than this, Augie."

Augusta wanted to be angry at the implication, but when she considered the bright, beautiful futures that the young couple before her had once had- she was silent as she hugged Neville closer to her.

Still consumed by the idea, Augusta almost missed the trio standing near the entrance to the Janus Thickney ward when she appeared to visit the next day.

Almost, but not quite. The war had only just ended, after all.

She knew Healer Whittington quite well by now- they had spent hours together with the older woman quietly explaining Frank and Alice's care plan. The other two she had never met- but they were, without doubt, Blacks. Augusta could see it in their stature, in their stormy eyes, in their wild matching curls.

Cassiopeia Black had arrived, and Augusta had to deal with Callidora's meddling whether she wanted to or not.

Healer Whittington smiled as she approached, inclining her head politely. "Augusta, right on time. I was just explaining to these two the changes that have been made to my ward since they last stayed with us."

Ignoring the pleasantries, Augusta gripped Neville's pram more tightly. "Right on time for what?"

"Oh dear. Did Callidora not speak with you? I'd hoped she would have told you we were coming at the least." The Black woman's face looked politely regretful, but Augusta continued to scowl. "My name is Cassiopeia Black, and this is my brother Marius. We came today to see if we can help your son and daughter-in-law."

"You won't be needed, so please leave."

Healer Whittington's eyes widened in surprise, and she sent Augusta a reproachful look. "Now, Augusta, I've explained to you myself that we don't believe any care available at St. Mungo's can reverse Frank and Alice's condition- Miss Black may well be their very best chance."

"Of what? Being poked, prodded, and studied? Of death? I failed to protect them once- I refuse to do it again!" Augusta was breathing heavily, and to her mortification tears were blooming up in her eyes.

While Cassiopeia looked surprised, Marius Black looked alarmed. "My dear Madam Longbottom! Healer, is there a seat I could escort her to? And maybe a glass of water?"

Quite unaware of how it happened, Augusta found herself gently placed on the couch in Healer Whittington's private offices, a glass of ice water in her hand and Neville's pram removed from her grip.

"What a darling," Marius grinned over the pram, dancing his fingers under Neville's chin. "Why the long face, little man?"

"My grandson is still in shock from-,"

Augusta's automatic response was cut off by Neville's sudden giggles. The Longbottom matriarch stared blankly. Then she took a sip of water.

"Marius has always been good with children." Augusta jumped when she realized Cassiopeia had sat down next to her, murmuring speculatively as she stared at her brother. "It's a magic of its own- he always knows how to stop their crying and make them giggle. I suspected for some time he was bribing them with pudding, but my house elf assures me that the littlest ones don't understand the English language well enough to be bribed."

Augusta watched Marius interact with her suddenly happy grandon, guilt and jealousy warring on her face.

"Neville isn't the only one who has been in shock," Healer Wharrington reminded quietly, a knowing expression on her wrinkled face as she watched Augusta patiently.

"I am fine, for the hundredth time- I am doing what I need to for my family." Augusta's tone was somehow stiffer than her shoulders.

"Are you fine, or do you think you have to be fine?" Cassiopeia countered softly. "There is a difference, Madam Longbottom. And its best to not pretend- I find that solutions do not come when one ignores the problem."

"Callidora has already told me you want to experiment on Frank and Alice- and I won't allow it. They aren't leaving St. Mungos. I am satisfied with Healer Wharrington's care and the comfort she provides them."

"Well, I am not," Healer Wharrington said flatly. "Augusta let me be clear- I have personally reviewed Miss Black's plans, and I find them to be exemplary. Certainly beyond what the hospital is currently able or willing to try- what your son and daughter-in-law deserve. Frank and Alice's care may be experimental, but-,"

"Enough! I won't sign them out, and that's that!"

"Madam Longbottom, do please hear them out." Marius had spent a lifetime's experience soothing high strung siblings, and his gentle tone quelled Augusta's angry tremoring. "I swear to you myself that the methods my sister is suggesting will not be harmful, and will, if not restore your family, at least let them find peace."

Peace- it had been a long time since Augusta had felt something even resembling that particular emotion. The war, the unexpected death of her husband, the fear, the overwhelming despair upon finding Frank and Alice, the guilt….. Merciless Morganna, the _guilt_!

"I don't deserve peace, but they do. He does, too." Augusta said in a very small voice, hands clasped tightly before her. "I will entertain your suggestion."

Cassiopeia stood smoothly, tugging a strange board on wheels out from behind Healer Whittington's desk. "Please let me know if you have questions as we proceed. Now, ideally we will begin today with…"

* * *

_December 4, 1981_

_Daily Prophet Special Edition_

**Breaking News! Breaking News!**

**Repaying Family Debts: Black Materfamilias Takes Custody of Famed Auror Couple from St. Mungos!**

**Article by Rita Skeeter**

Thousands of horror stories were reported on throughout what is now being referred to as the Blood War. Disappearances, violent attacks, and even family massacres have been detailed in this honored newspaper over the past several years- each filling us with a united sense of despair.

But I believe I speak for us all when I say that one of the most shocking attacks by the self-styled Death Eaters came after the war, when we were relaxing our guard to celebrate the Boy Who Lived and the Potter family's final sacrifice.

I speak, of course, of the fates of two of the most beloved Aurors in this country- the power couple leading the ground fight against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Desperate for information about their defeated Lord, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodulphus Lestrange, and Bartemius Crouch Jr. assailed the Longbottom's residence (an hour's broom ride from Longbottom Manor) for hours after blocking off the young family's ability to escape by Floo or Apparation. It is thought that the Longbottom's did not wake up till the wards were down and their house invaded, leaving only moments for them to hide away their son before facing their attackers.

It is unknown what exactly happened during the couple's final battle, but an inside source commented that, "Looks like Frank didn't have his wand on him, and Alice got backed into a corner. Damn shame those two refused to shoot to kill." Regardless of what happened, the results were the same: my most loyal readers will surely remember when I reported that the Longbottoms were declared insane by St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries due to repeated, long-term exposure to an Unforgivable curse.

The torture curse, which inflicts unseen pain, was used intermittently upon the Lonbottom's for approximately fifteen hours before Aurors swarmed the home searching for their missing co-workers. It is unknown how long it took to break their minds- all that is known that they never gave up any information (confirmed by a raving Bellatrix Lestrange during her trial) about either the whereabouts of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or their son.

Upon arriving, aurors engaged in a furious 5 hour chase to actually subdue the rapidly apparating criminals, finally apprehending them north of Surrey. Madam Augusta Longbottom was summoned to the scene of the crime- and dear readers, you must note, the home she had hand picked for the young family- and confirmed that Frank and Alice were incapacitated.

There was some hope that St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries would be able to restore the couple's mental facilities, but the brain damage caused by the Unforgivables repeated use seems to have stumped Britain's best Healers.

Until yesterday, that is, when Madam Black (for a recap of my information on the new Black Matriarch, see page 13) stepped into St. Mungos for a heart to heart with the grieving Madam Longbottom herself.

This reporter, concerned for the well being of two of our country's great heroes and dedicated as ever to the public's knowledge, investigated closely and learned that it is the Head of the Janus Thickney ward, one Healer Whittington, who will be overseeing the transition of the Longbottom's care to Chateau Black in France where Madam Black will begin a totally new process of reversing the devastating effects of the torture curse.

Without delving into the uninteresting minute details of the plan, I will share this quote from Madam Black herself: "The six stage plan is made possible the access I now have to researchers, healers, and memory experts."

Dear readers, I remain hopefully skeptical. Will our fallen heroes regain any capability again? Madam Longbottom seems doubtful, but willing to give Madam Black's plan a chance. Don't worry- I will be watching and waiting to report if her trust was put in the right place.


	22. Jurisdiction

_December 6, 1981_

_Ministry of Magic, London_

Amelia Bones was annoyed.

No, annoyed was a mild word better suited for when she spilled her tea.

Vexed? No, vexed was for when Susan tried to flush her kneazle down the loo 'to see what happened'.

Angry? Angry was better suited to the times Lucius Malfoy waltzed, care-free, into her office and tried to bribe her.

Outraged? Not yet, but she was getting there.

In short- Amelia Bones was Decidedly Not Amused.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I understood you Cornelius. You see it _sounded_ like you said, 'And Black was standing there laughing and crying that it was his fault so I took it as absolute proof he was guilty and arrested him without even reading his rights.' And surely that can't be accurate."

Cornelius Fudge's confidence was draining away quickly, and he squirmed uncomfortably as he stood in front of Amelia's desk. "Uhm, no, that…. That about sums it up."

Amelia's nostrils flared as she pressed her hands together on the desk. "Cornelius, remind me of the position you hold with the Ministry."

"I'm, uhm, assigned to the Hit Wizards?"

"Ah ah ah- let's be specific shall we? You are a member of the _Obliviation Department_ who was assigned to work with the Hit Wizards as a result of the ongoing attacks on the muggle public during the war." Amelia pointed one long finger at the increasingly confused wizard in front of her.

"Same thing, isn't it?"

"It is most definitely not the same thing, Cornelius." Amelia closed her eyes. "Who was in charge of your training when you were assigned to work with the Hit Wizards?"

"Uhm, Crouch was the one who discussed it with me originally, when we were discussing his future career and-," Cornelius cut himself off abruptly, turning bright red and prompting Amelia to roll her eyes with an airy wave.

"I already know he hired you with furthering his own career in mind. The whole department knows that. No reason to play coy now- though I'd urge you to consider how those career ambitions ended for him and to think long and hard about how you answer the rest of your questions."

"Madam?"

"So old Barty did your training. I'll need Penseive memories to collaborate it, but for now answer me this: Did _anyone at all_ ever tell you that you have the jurisdiction to arrest _anyone_?"

Cornelius's pale expression was answer enough.

* * *

_December 7, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

Cassiopeia leaned close over a pewter pot, breathing in the pink and blue tinged fumes carefully. "Note- Increasing the quantity of fungal spore results in a soft pink color rather than a more pure white."

As she spoke, the words inked themselves down on one of the half dozen pieces of parchment floating through the air behind her.

"Expected results- improved lifetime and decreased potency, a strong occlumens could likely push through the mental fog. May be mildly combustible, note to test in-"

"Missy Cassiopeia!"

The house elf's appearance in the doorway triggered a half dozen different safety wards- bubbles appeared around each individual workstation, parchment and quills were Vanished to a Reinforced Safety Vault, and Cassiopeia herself- looking quite put out- was covered in a glowing gold netting that sizzled fairly close to her skin.

It may have appeared to be overkill, but decades of nearly exploding oneself had taught Cassiopeia well.

"Pip you ridiculous creature, how many times do I have to tell you not to interrupt my research unless the house is on fire? Gracious, it takes me ages to redo the safety wards." Cassiopeia sighed as she looked around the lab, irate gaze finally settling on her house elf.

A normal house elf might have quivered, but Pip fixed her mistress with an equally stern glare. "Missy Cassiopeia was giving Pip _conflicting orders_."

"Oh- did I do that again? Well, at least this time you won't be floating for a week. Remind me what I said?"

Pip, whose expression strongly suggested that she still wasn't over the exceedingly traumatic week of floating (one cannot clean properly when walking on the ceiling!) waved a thick fold of parchment through the air. "Missy Cassiopeia was ordering Pip to let her know immediately if the Ministry was owling her!"

Cassiopeia flourished her wand through the air as she glided towards the proffered envelope, safety wards and bubbles vanishing as she went. "Who from specifically, Pip?"

"Amelia Bones."

A slow smile crept across Cassiopeia's face. "Well then- sounds like things are about to get interesting. I'll see to the note in the parlor, Pip- bring biscuits."

Pip watched her mistress drift down the hall in dismay, parchment in hand and dragonhide robes dragging behind her. Things were only now about to get interesting? Pip was quite certain things were already more interesting than she had ever asked for them to be!

What else could possibly happen?

* * *

_December 7, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

Albus Dumbledore stroked one long finger down his familiar's back as he read the letter Fawkes had just brought him from the ministry.

"Oh, Barty. You had one job."

Fawkes turned his head to stare at his master with one dark eye as Albus frowned at the parchment on his desk.

"I wondered how much trouble Cassiopeia Black would be when Rita Skeeter's first article was published, but I didn't consider anything would come of it so quickly," the old wizard confided in his dearest companion. "Really, you'd think that there'd be a moment to rest with Tom out of the picture."

Fawkes's vaguely reproachful gaze made Albus chuckle. "Yes, yes- no rest for the wicked and all that." Standing, Albus wandered away from his desk.

While the Headmaster's office had always been a tad ethereal, no previous Headmaster had leaned into the eccentric aesthetic quite so thoroughly. Dozens of new gadgets- whirling, spinning, buzzing, tinkling and humming in pattern that reminded one strangely of something by Bach- had been added to the ornate gold shelves on the walls. Portraits of Headmasters past were stuck up on charmed lilac wallpaper (Dumbledore had changed the color twelve times in his tenure so far). And of course the most recent of Albus's additions: hidden in a tight alcove overflowing with ancient books sat a Pensieve.

It was the pensieve that Albus made his way too, silently pulling the silver strands of a memory from his mind as he went. A gentle swish of his wand sent his thoughts floating into the murky liquid in the bowl- where they materialized into a young man with long dark curls and laughing grey eyes in a leather jacket.

He was holding a baby with bright green eyes.

"My apologies, Mr. Black," Dumbledore murmured as he watched the memory of the man lift the child above his head. "I could not say if I failed you, or if you chose your own path, or if perhaps a terrible mistake has been made as your Aunt now attempts to suggest. Regardless, I'm afraid I can't let you near Harry Potter anytime soon- we must all focus on the Greater Good."

Albus stared into the Pensieve for several long minutes before he turned back to his phoenix, eyes twinkling. "To the ministry then, shall we?"


	23. Call Cass

**A/N:** Hello everyone! This past week has been a bit overwhelming with a large project due at work + wedding planning, and I haven't had a ton of time to sit down and write the chapter I'd planned to come next. Instead of giving you something subpar that could hurt the storyline later, I decided to put together a fun bit of fluff to carry you through till Wednesday! I hope you enjoy- but if you'd rather, feel free to just check back in on Wednesday for the next scheduled update. Cheers, and hope you've a lovely start to your week!

* * *

_December 7, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

When Marius Granger had fallen to one knee in the middle of Lake District National Park and proposed to an increasingly mortified Agnes in front of their entire tour group, he had included quite a bit of flowery language about the family they would build, the large home they would fill together, and what a great mother he thought she'd be.

Agnes had said no without the slightest bit of hesitation (much to the dismay of Marius and the tour group).

"I won't marry you just to start a family, Marius. Life is about more than just having children, no matter how much either of us want them." Agnes had been quite firm in her rejection, and then, true to form, had promptly pretended the whole thing hadn't happened- to Marius's confusion (and the tour group's delight), she kissed him square on the lips and took over the rest of their walking tour.

Marius had been a tad put out at first, but lunch with Dorea some weeks later had proved to be an educational experience.

"Bless her," Dorea had laughed over her sandwich, "She was quite right to tell you no- really, what did you expect?"

"But we both want children- I thought I was being thoughtful by focusing on the future!" Marius complained, but a touch of red high in his cheeks gave away his mounting embarrassment.

"Men." Dorea punctuated her exasperated sigh with an eye roll towards the heavens. "Look- what if for some reason Agnes couldn't have children? Or if you couldn't? It does happen you know- and you've both got wizarding stock in you, so there's actually a higher chance of it."

Marius, who had kept the traditional Black male stance of intentional ignorance of women's health matters (including the more explicit details of childbirth), frowned heavily. "Oh?"

"And Marius? It's probably worth noting she likely thinks you're rushing to have children just to replace, well, us. She may even think you'd consider leaving her if you two couldn't…. reproduce."

"I mean, adoption is an option as the ads all say these days."

"Oh, and that was mentioned in your little public speech, was it?" Dorea smiled knowingly. "Marius, would you love Agnes even if you never had a baby with her?"

"Obviously! She's… she's…. Agnes is wonderful. She's incredibly sharp, and kind, and she has this absolutely no-nonsense kind of humor that makes my stomach hurt I laugh so hard, and-,"

"Yes, yes, I understand." Dorea intoned wryly, unwilling to listen to another forty minute speech on Agnes' many virtues. "Try rewording your proposal. Tell her what you like about her, not her ovaries."

"Her… what?"

The sandwich slammed down onto its plate. "Honestly Marius, do you even know what biology is? I'm having Cass send you a biology text immediately!"

(Dorea had followed through on this threat, and the ensuing education that the Black sisters had ensured Marius was given had sent him into shock no less than 8 times.)

It was several more months before Marius proposed again, but when he did it was in the privacy of Agnes's apartment at Christmas, the only witness being the kitten he'd gotten on her birthday the previous year.

He didn't mention children, though he knew he wanted a family with her. He didn't mention her being a wonderful mother, because he had plenty to say when he described what a wonderful partner she made. He did say- very seriously, and with no uncertainty, that he would do whatever it took to prove that he loved her for her, and not as a replacement or an ideal or a plan for the future.

And that time, Agnes smiled and said yes.

It was, Marius still sometimes whispered as they sat under their own Christmas tree in their own home, the happiest moment of his entire life.

The second, third, and fourth best moments of Marius's life- the specific order of which seemed to depend on both the day and the attitudes of the individuals in question- were the births of his children and grandchild.

When they were little, Marius had carried his children on his shoulders through the office, on field trips through Diagon Alley for magical toys, and in the streets. Agnes had always followed a half step behind, confident in her ability to capture any overly-wiggly offspring should they suddenly go tumbling through the air. When they were teenagers, Agnes had talked him off many a ledge regarding rules and safety- no, Marius was not allowed to chaperone every single date, and no, Marius was not to say no every time they left his sight.

It had all worked out in the end- Daniel was a successful dentist with an equally accomplished wife, and Patricia was-

Well, Patricia was Patricia. Last they heard, she was setting up a research facility to better investigate human response to physical stimulation from a stranger vs a familiar party, with a strong hypothesis that physical interaction could cause a "false hormonal dependence" on another party.

Marius was (he repeated on a basis so frequent he may have been trying to convince himself) thrilled that his free spirited child was following her own path.

Agnes just liked the shock value of telling her friends that her daughter was a sex researcher in hippie commune. ("And what do _your_ children do, again?")

Both Marius and Agnes had predicted, when Helen and Daniel first told them they were expecting, that Hermione was likely the only grandchild they would ever have (Daniel and Helen had A Plan for their life, and Patricia- well, Patricia was Patricia. Who knew what she would end up doing to surprise them next?). They were determined to enjoy every single second of grandparenthood.

After all, everyone said it was even more fun than parenting.

"Marius, there appears to be something on the ceiling."

"Yes, Aggie love, there is."

Everyone said grandchildren were much easier to manage after gaining so much experience with one's own children.

"Marius, there appears to be some _one_ on the ceiling."

"Yes, Aggie love, there is."

Clearly, none of them had ever had a magical grandchild.

"Marius, why did the baby end up on the ceiling?" Agnes's voice was patient, but her eyes were anxiously tracking her granddaughter as she crawled towards the light fixture at the center of the living room. "Hermione, no no darling, mustn't touch. Hot like the stove, that is."

"I was reading her the Borrowers, and we may have had a long discussion on different viewpoints." Marius paused, looking from the book in his hand to the toddler above his head. "Like the one you'd have from the ceiling."

Agnes pointed one finger sharply at her husband without breaking her gaze from their only grandchild. "If Helen never lets us babysit again, I am fully blaming you."

"But Aggie-,"

"Helen and Daniel will be home in an _hour_ Marius, please contain your desire to make excuses for at least that long!"

Hermione laughed from the ceiling.

"Darling girl, ladies don't really walk on the ceiling," Marius coaxed gently, abandoning the appeasement of his wife in favor of reaching out both arms to his granddaughter. "Come to grandpa, would you please?"

"Not a lady!"

"No, you most certainly are not behaving like one," Agnes said sternly, "Hermione Jean, come down at once."

Unfortunately for Agnes and Marius, they aren't called the 'terrible two's' for no reason. Hermione was _not_ planning to bring herself down.

They tried offering biscuits (Marius almost fell over when his foot motivated granddaughter ignored the warm chocolate biscuit he was waving under her nose), they bargained for a jaunt over to the park. Time outs were threatened, shrieking was had all around, and Agnes was fairly certain her blood pressure was doing unhealthy things. Finally-

"Twenty minutes! We have twenty minutes!"

Marius looked at his pocket watch frantically, cringing to see that his son and daughter-in-law would indeed be finishing up their last scheduled procedures of the day and coming home soon.

They were definitely never being allowed to babysit again.

"It's all of this exposure to magic she's gotten lately, I'm telling you," Marius groaned. "How are we supposed to keep up with her when she's doing underage magic of her own accord? Who are you supposed to call when the _baby_ starts toddling around on the _ceiling_?"

"That's it!" Agnes cried, jumping up and running towards the parlor, "Marius, don't let the baby fall!"

Bewildered, Marius stood with arms wide open below Hermione (who was dedicatedly gnawing on a piece of the crown molding- "Are you teething again? Please chew less obviously, your mother is already going to kill me.") until Agnes came trotting back into the room with a relieved expression on her face and reinforcements in tow.

"Cassiopeia?"

"Marius?"

"When did you get here?"

"Why, just now- your wife dragged me through the Floo. Literally. I think Pip may have had a heart attack and-,"

"Ok, both of you, shut it!" Agnes glared at the twins. "I'm the one who is going to have a heart attack if you don't get my granddaughter off the ceiling immediately!"

Cassiopeia frowned, glancing up at the toddler crawling amok in the air above them. "Excuse me, would you come down?"

"No!"

"Well, there you have it Agnes, you heard her- she doesn't want to come down." Cassiopeia shrugged and smiled as if convinced this was a perfectly reasonable result. "Not sure why you wanted _me_ to inquire about her plans, though."

Agnes's eye twitched violently. " _Eight_ minutes."

"Cass, Agnes brought you over so you could magically remove Hermione from the ceiling- we weren't trying to offer her a choice."

Bewildered silence ensued briefly, before: "Did you just tell her to get down?"

"OF COURSE-,"

"What Aggie means is that we did try several ways, yes. Please, Cass."

Cassiopeia sighed before turning away from a seething Agnes to address Hermione. "Small heir, come here at once."

"No!"

"Excuse you- I am your Materfamilias and that is a _direct order_ young lady. I admire your dedication to your experiments with gravity, but really child all good scholars understand that you start with books, not practicals."

"Gravy?"

"No, I said gravity- if that's not what you wanted to learn about, why are you even on the ceiling? What is the purpose of this experiment, great-niece?"

"Ex-spear-mint," Hermione sounded out as best as her still forming vernacular would allow. "Ex-spear-mint!"

"Correct. Your experiment. I am inquiring as to its purpose."

Cassiopeia and toddler engaged in a long staring contest until Marius, hesitantly, offered, "We were reading a muggle book called the Borrowers about miniature people living in the walls."

Cassiopeia shrugged. "Sounds like house elves. Great-niece, would you like to see a real one? You must come down first. Mine tends to panic over _unnecessary floating_ these days?"

"What on earth did you do to her?" Marius demanded, but was promptly distracted with Hermione dropped straight into his still outstretched arms. "You came down!"

"Show!" Hermione demanded, eyes firmly locked on her Materfamilias even as Agnes crushed the little girl to her chest.

"Oh very well then- Pip!"

* * *

Helen smiled as she watched her daughter sleep sprawled out across Marius's lap. "You know Agnes, I can't thank you enough for how much you do for Hermione- I can't imagine she'd be happy with any other sitters."

Agnes' smile was only slightly strained as she poured herself another glass of wine.

"It's a shame Aunt Cassie got called away before dinner," Daniel commented, "I think she's really warming up to Hermione- did you hear her talking to Hermione about safety regulations when playing with gravity? I'd never have thought she'd be that, well, fun honestly."

Agnes promptly traded her glass for the bottle.


	24. Orion's Funeral: Part 1

**A/N:** Hello everyone! This chapter begins a moment MANY of you have been eagerly waiting for- the funeral! As Tommy Pickles would say, "Hang onto your diapies, babies!" because this is going to be a _wild_ ride. If you hate cliff hangers- stop here! Come back next Wednesday, and read all 3 parts together. Regardless of when you read, **please be sure to pay close attention to the times and location in italics at the head of each section** \- we'll be bouncing back and forth through Orion's big day quite a bit, and some people have gotten a bit lost in the next few chapters before when not reading closely.

Thank you all for your time, your love, your reviews, and your ongoing support of the Black Family's PR Nightmare, and have a wonderful rest of your week- you certainly make mine!

* * *

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

_December 11, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

_22:30 GMT: 1.5 hours till the funeral_

"Let's review. You've lost one corpse and one homicidal niece, your brother is engaging in fisticuffs, the Black sisters' little reunion is about as dismal as expected, your heir ripped her nice robes, Albus Dumbledore is unconscious in your office, and there's a riot at the front gate. Is that all?"

Covered in a shocking amount of soot and- really, was that blood?- Cassiopeia slumped against the peach-painted mantle in front of Isla's color-coordinated four poster bed. The whites of her eyes flashed as she shook her head vehemently. "No, Isla, there's worse- we've run out of biscuits!"

Nodding seriously, Isla threw back the covers and stood. "I see."

"Well, _I_ don't see," Alejandro Calderon grumbled as he scrambled deeper under the sheets for warmth. "Cassiopeia Black, how did you get into our bedroom? And what on earth have you two gotten mixed up in? Why are there murderous people running around? And when did you get dressed? I swear you were literally just in your altogether!"

Isla shot her husband a Mona Lisa smile as she slid black lace gloves over her arms. "Zapatero, a tus zapatos. Go back to sleep, darling, and in the morning I'll make it up to you."

Peeking his nose out from under his pillow: "Nunca es tarde si la dicha es buena."

Cassiopeia waved absently over her shoulder as Isla pulled her back to the fireplace by the back of her robes. "But Isla, we really must get biscuits first. Sleep well, Alejandro!"

* * *

_December 11, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

_Noon GMT: 12 hrs till the funeral_

"I have strong feelings about today, Pip."

Pip squinted at her mistress, who had planted herself firmly on what had once been Arcturus's desk in front of the family tapestry.

"Missy is feeling?"

"That's the question, isn't it? I'm not sure if I'm excited or anxious or positively mad- though I suppose an argument could be made for all three at once. Say, doesn't one of my nieces study emotions?"

Pip considered the contents of Patricia's last postcard. "Yes, Missy Cassiopeia. Missy's brother's daughter is being in America studying _very_ specific human emotions."

Cassiopeia hummed thoughtfully, ignoring Pip's exasperated expression as she reached for her seventh biscuit of the day. "Really, a shame I couldn't send for her too- it would have been nice to have the whole set on display. And it never hurts to have more scientific minds around. In fact-"

One of Pip's large round eyes twitched of its own accord. "Pip is thinking it is better that Missy Cassiopeia is leaving her niece to do her research in America, because uninterrupted research is being very important!"

Cassiopeia, fully aware that Pip had never quite managed to forgive Patricia for her part in the Floating Incident that had occurred during one of the Grangers' highly eventful summer visits, smiled at the ceiling. "I suppose you're right Pip. No need to get an international Portkey together."

Hesitantly relieved (Pip Did Not Trust anything about Patricia Granger, not even her ability to stay away), the elf nodded in agreement. "Missy and Pip is having a long to do list already, we is not needing to be adding even more."

"Oh? I'm dressed, we're here- What else could there possibly be left to do?" Cassiopeia stretched out her hand for a tenth biscuit. "Surely someone else-,"

Pip snapped her fingers, and the half full plate of biscuits zoomed across the room to her hands. With an expression entirely too dictatorial for any self-respecting house elf: "Missy is coming with Pip, and there is being more biscuits when she is getting things done!"

"Pardon?"

* * *

_14:30 GMT: 9.5 hours till the funeral_

Cassiopeia hadn't kept track of a chore list in her life (unless one counted the check lists she made for research projects), but she quickly found that her mind was more than capable of tracking things in terms of biscuits.

A warm triple chocolate biscuit came with her final approval of the cocktail hour appetizers, and it was accompanied by a strong cup of tea when she okayed the Head Elf's dinner suggestions as well (unlike Pip, the Head Elf would never deign to assume that their selections would sit well with the Materfamilias).

Digestives were offered for each family curse she temporarily lifted to allow the Black elves access to the infrequently used catafalque and the family cemetery.

A custard cream biscuit was immediately provided when she completed and signed off on a brief letter to Rita Skeeter, snippets of which were intended to feed directly into tomorrow's news article.

There was a hobnob biscuit for helping the Black elves find appropriate funeral drapings (there was some question over whether to use the decorations normally reserved for when a wife killed her husband or for when one Black cousin killed another), there was shortbread for warding a private room for Marius's family (just in case anything went south, though Cassiopeia was still confident things would go splendidly), and there was a fig roll for confirming the champagne selection for the evening.

All told, it was a slightly overwhelmed and exceedingly stuffed Cassiopeia who collapsed onto Melania and Arcturus' bed at tea time.

"Cousin! Did we not discuss knocking?" Arcturus's pained voice floated out from behind a privacy screen in one corner of the room.

Cassiopeia, baffled: "If you didn't want me to enter, why didn't you lock your door?"

"I'm _quite_ certain that I _did_!"

Melania's head popped out from behind the bottom of the screen as she glanced gravely between the door and her cousin-in-law. "Darling, is our bedroom door keyed to _us_ or is it keyed to the _family head?_ "

Arcturus' despondent groan was answer enough.

"Oh- should I change that? I can probably change- never mind, this room has belonged to the family head for too long, changing the ward rules without blood sacrifice would probably bring the walls down." Cassiopeia shrugged and adjusted the pillows behind her, nose scrunching as she magically probed into the Manor's ward structure.

"I wouldn't be opposed to a little blood sacrifice," Arcturus muttered irritably, emerging from behind the screen in a hastily grabbed dressing gown.

"Now, now- blood sacrifices are firmly banned on funeral days."

"Also, I'd have to murder you if you got blood on my new carpets." Melania, still hidden from view, paused. "Non-violently murder you, of course. It wouldn't do to make even more of a mess."

"While I'm terribly certain you don't, _do_ you have a good reason for barging in uninvited?"

"According to my house elf's schedule, you were late for our tea. Is fetching you a good enough reason?"

"Insufferable little-,"

"Enough, Arcturus." Melania glided out from behind the screen, ensconced in an oversized thick velvet dressing gown and looking entirely unperturbed compared to her visibly fuming husband. She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Gopher!"

A sharp crack brought a small house elf into the room, anxiously clutching his toga. "Yes, Mistress?"

"Bring a full tea service at once. Two cups Lady Grey, one of Assam. Milk, sugar, light sandwiches and Victorian sponge for three."

"Yes Mistress," Gopher said, bowing smarty and cracking away into non-existence once more.

From Cassiopeia, who had rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her forearms to better observe her cousin's wife: "You choose what they feed you for _every meal_?"

From Arcturus, who seemed torn between angry spluttering and automatically capitulating to his wife's decision: "But love! Tea, in our room? With _her_?"

"I do believe you meant that as an insult, Cousin."

If Melania had been less well-bred, her swift glance towards the ceiling may have been called an eye roll. As it was, an impressively thin smile masked her exasperation. "Allow me to correct myself- that is enough from _both_ of you. Find a seat at the table at once."

Glaring at one another half-heartedly (admittedly, Arcturus's own glare was a good deal more potent that Cassiopeia's), the quarrelsome pair found their places around the gold-wrought pedestal table that had been installed near the fireplace.

"We have other rooms for seeing visitors," Arcturus muttered half-heartedly, determinedly avoiding his wife's censuring look in response.

Cassiopeia smirked, but Melania was spared further commentary by the reappearance of one heavily burdened Gopher bearing a large polished-silver tea tray.

"Your tea is being served, Mistress." The elf shook beneath the weight of the tray (or perhaps beneath the much heavier weight of Melania's appraising eyes). At her long awaited nod of benediction, visible relief crossed over his face and he hastily began setting out the table.

"Now I do believe you wanted to discuss the plans for this evening," Melania smiled indulgently as Cassiopeia loaded the Victoria Sponge onto her plate (it wasn't biscuits, but all pudding was appreciable in its own way).

"Yes, certainly. For starters, I'll expect you to both be on your absolute best behavior with all of our guests this evening."

The indulgence turned frosty. "I do believe you're insinuating that we don't know how to host our own family."

Cassiopeia shook her head, holding up both hands appeasingly. "Of course not." A faux innocent smile. "I'm only suggesting some of your ingrained prejudices may attempt to get the better of you."

Arcturus scowled. "You are being intentionally coy- your mother always said you were bad at it you know."

"Mother said I was bad at everything, so please don't think you've landed some fatal blow."

"And which ingrained prejudices would you be speaking of?"

"Well, for starters, my brother will be joining us this evening."

Comprehension began to flare in Arcturus's eyes even as confusion spread across Melania's face. "We see Pollux every day- he's Arcturus's dearest friend. Why on earth wouldn't we be polite to him? It isn't his fault his daughter was-,"

"No, I don't mean Pollux." Cassiopeia interrupted gently, and Arcturus slammed his hand down, wildly disrupting the tea.

"Oh absolutely _not_!"

* * *

_17:30 GMT: 6.5 hrs till the funeral_

Cassiopeia beamed as she intercepted the Grangers coming through the Floo. "Welcome to Black Manor!"

Marius wrinkled his nose as his body unconsciously reacted to the wards. "Suppression, screaming, and cinnamon- it hasn't changed a bit."

"In at least a thousand years," Cassiopeia agreed with a light shrug before turning to survey the rest. Agnes, Daniel, Helen, and Hermione were struggling to acclimate to the tingly sensation of the extra protection spells she had laid on them as soon as they had crossed through the fire. "Did you all have a chance to review Pip's quick notes on our plans this evening?"

"There was nothing _quick_ about those notes," Agnes muttered, thinking about the two large stacks of parchment the house elf had delivered halfway through breakfast that morning.

"I'm a little lost on some of the details still," Daniel agreed. "For example, there was a whole chapter on what classifies as an appropriate amount of drunkenness and how to make sure you stay on that level as long as possible. Can we even _take_ the potions listed?"

"I must say, I haven't had the chance to research the effect of common potions on muggles- and wouldn't _that_ be a fun experiment for the evening!"

"Cass!" Marius's censuring look made his twin pout.

"Don't be such a bore brother, the night is looking to be positively dull."

"Don't say that!"

Everyone turned to stare at Helen as, eyes wide, she brandished her own incredibly heavy set of notes from Pip. Licking the tip of her finger to skim through the pages, she stopped and read, "If one does not want to be cursed with bad luck, one should never speak ill of the funeral itself. Black wizards and witches do not tolerate such insult at the greatest event of their life, even in death, and one is cautioned to remember that ghosts are not the only things to cross the grave."

"Ghosts!" Hermione chirped from her father's arms, delight on her face as she began squirming to get down. "Want ghosts!"

"Peculiar child, aren't you? But I do believe there is a ghost up in the-,"

"And that's enough of that," Agnes interrupted firmly, shooting Helen a look that said very clearly, "Don't go getting superstitious on me now, we really have enough on our hands already here."

Perplexed (after all, the only thing odder than wanting a ghost was so vehemently wanting to avoid speaking of something that did very clearly exist), Cassiopeia shrugged once more and headed towards the door. "Right then- follow me, if you please. Do try to remember where this room is, it's the only room in the entire Manor that no one but you- well, and me- can enter. In fact, if you've anything muggle on you at all, best leave it here."

"I'll assume my underwear is acceptable, muggle or no," Daniel grinned cheekily at his aunt, smile faltering when she raised one brow consideringly. "Wait, I refuse to leave those."

Marius sighed. "She's having you on, son."

"Cassiopeia doesn't put people on," Agnes snorted and fixed her sister-in-law with a strongly felt side eye. "However, best say you were, because I don't fancy going commando."

"Going- never mind, your underclothes can stay," Cassiopeia agreed as she led them out into the hall. "Now, let's see- where was I to put you again? Pip!"

Pip appeared at her mistress's side with a sharp crack and an exaggerated sigh. "Missy is forgetting the plan, isn't she?"

"I do believe these things are better off in your hands."

"They was _being_ in Pip's hands- that is why Pip gave Missy Cassiopeia an instruction list!"

Cassiopeia frowned and patted her pockets. "Did you? You did! Very well then Pip."

(Behind her, Marius and Agnes shared a long look that seemed to suggest their extreme doubt in the remainder of the evening based on this single exchange.)

"Let's see- nephew, fellow researcher, and heir are to be in the conservatory to meet with Pollux's family- Pip, can you take them? Do remember not to give your last names, or say what your relation is, would you? Be mysterious. If they pry, pretend you're choking when you try to say it- they'll think you have a tongue twister curse on you, and then they'll leave you alone."

"Wait, Pollux? Isn't that-," Daniel tried to ask, but his aunt's domineering little elf had he and Helen both firmly by the sleeves and was pulling them rapidly down the hall.

Marius watched apprehensively as his little family disappeared. "I didn't realize you planned to split us up."

"More effective this way- Isla has plans for your daughter-in-law that rely on her success this evening. You'd only be in the way."

Wryly: "And I'd so hate to be a burden."

"I'm sure you would. Now, you have the less pleasant task, so I'll beg you both to mind your tongues."

"It gets less pleasant than this?"

"Oh certainly. I'm fairly confident that any interaction with Arcturus is the least pleasant option on the table."

"Wait, Arcturus? A one on one? Absolutely not!" Marius stopped in his tracks, hands flying to his hips. "I'd rather-,"

"Entertain the Malfoys? Escort the aurors when they arrive?"

"But Arcturus is a smarmy git!"

"Better a git than a dirty stain on our family's name, squib."

Agnes and the twins spun around immediately, only to find a sneering Arcturus standing in the hall behind them.

"Cousin," Cassiopeia began pleasantly, even as her eyes flashed molten silver, "You do seem to have forgotten our little chat over tea."

"He started-,"

"And you, a powerful Pureblooded Black, should have the class not to engage in it." Melania slid silently down the hall from the direction they had been headed. "Husband, you will walk me to the sitting room at once."

Careful to make a great show of avoiding brushing against or breathing too near either Marius or Agnes, Arcturus sidestepped the couple to bow briefly and offer his wife his arm before leading her back the way she had come.

"Want me to curse him? A stinging hex on the bum perhaps?"

"Don't bother," Marius muttered, "But if he says anything about Aggie-,"

"Melania, at least, has a sense of self preservation. She'll obey me this evening, and she'll keep our dear cousin in line, if only because she is more than aware I can take away her title, her money, and her power with a snap of my fingers." Cassiopeia frowned. "Actually, with an order to Pip, because I'm sure there would be paperwork involved that I know nothing about."

Agnes rolled her eyes. "Lord have mercy on us all. Does magic always come with an obnoxious need for dramatics?"

The Black twins glanced at one another contemplatively, then, as one: "Yes."

* * *

_18:30 GMT: 5.5 hrs till the funeral_

It was a noticeably tense Cassiopeia who left the elder Blacks and Grangers in the sitting room with the more recently arrived Prewetts and Longbottoms.

"It's a good thing Marius never took up boxing," she murmured to Pip, "I think his head might pop off if Arcturus doesn't nip his behavior in the bud. Honestly, I've half a mind to zap them both."

"Pip is thinking that Missy's brother's wife is the one who will be doing the head popping." Pip glanced back towards the sitting room, where they'd left Marius and Arcturus bristling at one another while Agnes's eyes twitched through Lucretia's barrage of increasingly insulting questions about muggle life. ("How do you handle your, you know, waste?" was never a good starting question.)

"Nothing to be done now, I suppose- at least it likely can't get worse. Let's check in on the conservatory shall we? Surely Pollux's group is getting along better."

Pip thought about it and cringed.

Maybe they would have been better off sending an international Portkey for Patricia Granger after all.


	25. Orion's Funeral: Part 2

**A/N:** Up till now, the only liberty I have taken with the Black family tree has been making Marius and Cassiopeia twins (and that is very tiny liberty in my mind as, with no birth date available for Marius- it was blasted off the tree- they very easily could have been twins). Now, however, I have taken a liberty- instead of Pollux and Irma having Walburga at 13, they had her at 17.

* * *

_December 11, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

_22:45 GMT: 1.25 hours till the funeral_

Isla Calderon swept her velveteen robes back with one hand and crouched low over Albus Dumbledore: Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and, currently, unconscious funeral crasher.

"Really darling, I'm all for protective warding, but even I must wonder if the fourth round of Confundus was completely necessary."

"I won't accept full blame for this one- I haven't had time to go through all the warding structures on this manor yet. How was I supposed to know what the previous family heads had added in?"

"Was there not an instruction manual?"

"Missy Cassiopeia was not wanting the instruction manual." Pip stared at the ceiling to avoid her mistress's glare.

Isla, resigned: "I do believe I could have guessed that."

"Could we please return to the matter at hand?" Cassiopeia demanded impatiently, stepping around what had been Arcturus's desk to hover in front of the family tapestry. "Albus Dumbledore showing up and attempting to… actually, I still can't tell what he was doing. Regardless, him being unconscious hardly helps the image I was going for today."

"Pull yourself together darling, this is entirely fixable. Now, what closet did you lock your nieces in?"

"Which ones?"

* * *

_17:30 GMT: 6.5 hrs till the funeral_

Pollux Black had been an anxious people pleaser since the day he was born. He hadn't cried unless someone expressed their concern that he was dead, he had been rarely seen and never heard, and when his younger siblings or older cousins asked him to do something- be it embarrassing or against the rules or otherwise- he had quietly done it with wide, worried eyes.

Really, it was a good thing that Arcturus so cheerfully took the younger Black boy under his wing (though, arguably, this was originally done because Arcturus had been deeply intrigued by the idea of collecting a minion). However, Arcturus' influence ran out when Pollux's mother chose his wife: Irma Crabbe.

Irma had set her eyes on Pollux when they were six years old and decided that this meek, mild creature was precisely to her liking. With a bit of help from her equally strong minded mama (and quite a bit of hand greasing and groveling from her father), she had set about wooing Violetta Black so thoroughly that she would be unable to accept any other future daughter-in-law.

It had worked, of course- Violetta loved flattery, and she loved being the center of the conversation. Nothing in her circle of socialites was quite as exciting as a childhood engagement, and thus Pollux had found himself engaged before he even left for Hogwarts.

It had been terribly embarrassing, and was made only worse by Irma's bulldog possessiveness. Pollux was not allowed friends she didn't approve, was not allowed hobbies she herself didn't enjoy. His circle had, as a result, been the same sort of bullies that Irma herself was and Pollux found himself quietly uncaring of their behavior.

Cassiopeia's appearance at Hogwarts sans Marius had been an issue within that tiny circle of course- but for once, Irma's vicious qualities had served Pollux well. Pollux belonged to her, and no one was to bother him. If his little brother was a nasty squib- who cared? It just meant Pollux had taken on more of the family magic himself. (It is worth noting that Irma's protective consideration had not extended to her future sister-in-law.)

By the time they were 16, Pollux could not imagine life without Irma. He had not protested when his mother planned the wedding for the summer between their sixth and seventh years (there was some concern he may want to "sow his oats" if allowed to turn 17 before the marriage went through), and he hadn't even thought to complain when Irma had informed him on their wedding night that she would be getting pregnant immediately because she had no need for her degree now that she was Mrs. Black.

His seventh year at Hogwarts, he was not the only one with a new wife at home. He wasn't even the only one with a baby. He was, however, the only one who used NEWT's as an excuse to avoid taking the train back to London every other weekend with the rest of the new husbands- something he had come to regret a bit when he had finally met his daughter.

Walburga seemed to have absorbed all of her mother's blood lust and not a bit of Pollux's timidity. She had even followed in her mother's footsteps, determining before she was nine years old that Orion Black was going to be hers if that was what it took to become the head of one of the oldest families in the Sacred 28- despite Pollux's weak attempted to discuss it, marrying someone inferior was never an option.

Pollux's second and third children had been quite different from his first. Alphard had been as mild as Pollux remembered Marius being, and Cygnus had been more of a split between Irma and himself: quiet, but just as determined to terrorize those he found inferior. Pollux had attempted to parent them all the same way: equal parts distant and capitulating.

It had been his grandchildren he'd best enjoyed best (Regulus in particular had reminded him of himself, a quiet boy so determined to please his mother that he went against his own instinct more often than not). Irma had been pleased with their number if not with their individual characters, but then Irma had not lived long past Regulus's second birthday.

Pollux had receded into himself some when Irma died- he had not made his own choices at any point in his life, and he was not particularly prepared for the barrage of demands that the world suddenly seemed to have of him. He retreated further and further into seclusion in one of the half dozen homes the Black's owned near the main manor and spent his time with Arcturus and Melania or with his grandchildren. As he tended to either seize or have panic attacks when conflict was mentioned, Pollux didn't even realize there was a war going on 'til Dorea bemoaned her daughter-in-law being in hiding during what sounded like an unpleasant pregnancy.

It was this Pollux- this anxious, people pleasing, now aging man, this avid avoider of conflict and commotion, this most demure member of the Black family- who was saddled by his sister with the unenviable task of babysitting his progeny and their offspring before cocktail hour.

It was a wonder that Cassiopeia had ever thought it would go well.

Pollux had let himself in the front door fifteen minutes early (Irma had never tolerated exact-on-timeliness, let alone being _late_ ) and headed towards the conservatory, where a note from Cassiopeia had instructed him to be. To his surprise, he was not the first ones there.

"Pardon," he murmured awkwardly, staring at a man who looked oddly familiar, a woman who didn't, and a little girl he was almost certain he'd seen somewhere before. "I was not informed who all I would be greeting, and did not realize anyone would have beaten me here."

"No trouble at all," the woman smiled very gently at him, as if she could see his knees trembling with the stress of it all beneath his robes. "I'm Helen, this is my husband Daniel, and our daughter Hermione. Cassiopeia asked us to wait here with you."

Deeply relieved and not a bit suspicious: "Oh, I see. If Cassiopeia sent you, it is a pleasure to meet you."

Pollux didn't notice the look that the couple exchanged before they smiled pleasantly and responded in kind.

They seemed to be waiting for something- perhaps for him to lead the conversation? How horrid! But Pollux knew good manners were a must, and he felt a bit obligated to play host in lieu of his daughter, who would normally be hosting her husband's funeral (obviously, having murdered him put a wrench in societal customs).

"Have you been given a tour of the conservatory?"

Helen and Daniel exchanged another look, and this one made Pollux sweat. The conservatory was only one room! These people probably didn't care a fig for botany, and they were obviously already put off, and Cassiopeia would be-

"Tour?"

Pollux glanced down at the baby with wide eyes. "Yes, a tour. Of the conservatory. A tour of this conservatory."

"Tour!"

"That's quite right darling, we haven't been given a tour, have we? We haven't ventured down a single row, even- would you be willing to show us around?" Helen's easy smile relaxed Pollux once more.

"Oh, of course- please follow me." Pollux shifted from foot to foot as he led the little family through rows of carefully curated plants.

"This is my personal favorite- this is a midget Eo Mugna, which produces apples, acorns, and hazelnuts all at once and throughout the year. It is widely considered the oldest tree species in existence- it was varied and weakened over the centuries to create the individual tree species."

"Really!" Daniel stepped close, peering into the vari-colored foliage. "Does it produce a single type of apple, or does it produce the same variety we see on our tables today?"

"A much narrower variety, but none of those it produces are readily available today. They say the tree's mood decides what variety of apple will grow, but I personally have found it depends on the season as well."

"How interesting! Are you a botanist yourself?"

"Oh, no, I-"

"Father! Where are you?"

Pollux's slowly developing confidence fled. "Coming, Cygnus."

Helen and Daniel exchanged another long look.

In the doorway, Cygnus stood holding a long hawk topped cane and wearing a completely put out expression. "Father, why on earth- and who is this?"

"Cygnus, allow me to introduce you to Daniel, Helen, and their daughter Hermione."

"And who might they be?" Cygnus demanded, focusing his attention on his increasingly uncomfortable father rather than on the other guests in question.

"They're-,"

"Cassiopeia asked us to join you," Helen said firmly.

"Why?"

"Do you make it your mission to always question your materfamilias?" Daniel's fake surprise was clear, and Cygnus's scowl fell deeper.

"Now listen you-,"

"Hello Papa."

"Yes, hello Andromeda, now as I was saying- wait. Andromeda? Why are _you_ here? Who is this? Who is that? Father! I demand to know what is going on at once!"

As Pollux himself had absolutely no idea what was going on, he found himself stammering obsoletely.

Andromeda stepped further into the room in a cloud of dark mustard velvet and rose-water perfume, closely followed by a tall man in a matching tux jacket and a young girl in dark teal. "Why Papa, didn't Cissy tell you she invited us?"

"Narcissa? Narcissa! Narcissa would never defy me by inviting you when I blasted you off the family tapestry myself!"

"You know what they say about liars Papa- I did, after all, blast my name off that tree all by myself."

Apparently quite unprepared to be called out, Cygnus sank into one of the heavy metal chairs decorating the room.

"Grandfather." Andromeda tilted her head as she floated towards Pollux, one hand drifting up to clasp his. "Your own sister summoned me. Will you accept that?"

Pollux glanced from his son to his granddaughter and managed a rather pitiful smile. "Cassiopeia is Materfamilias."

"Yes, Cassiopeia most certainly is," Andromeda murmured, and drew her family forward. "May I present my husband, Ted Tonks, and our daughter, Nymphadora?"

From Cygnus, blustering: "You certainly may not introduce that mudblood here!"

From Nymphadora, irritably: "Mum, don't call me that!"

From Helen, shocked: "Language! There's a child in the room!"

"Now, now…" Pollux said hesitantly before, frowning, he looked down at his great granddaughter. "Is your name not actually Nymphadora?"

"Well, yes, but it's awfully stupid," the eight year old muttered, scuffing her foot on the ground and scowling.

"Language," Helen murmured again, more gently in the face of a child's complaints than in light of a grown adult's bigotry.

"Precisely- mind yours, young lady," Ted Tonks tapped his daughter gently on the shoulder. "Sir, it is a pleasure to meet you. I've heard wonderful things about my wife's time with you as a child, including about how you encouraged her natural talents with memory keeping."

The room was tense as everyone stared at Pollux, waiting to see how he would react to the proffered hand in front of him. Pollux had been raised to believe, and had in turn raised his children to believe, that muggleborns were unworthy, were a danger, were somehow _less than_. He too had been distraught to find that his preferred granddaughter had run off with one, even if he had not written any long condescending letters or offered to murder her original betrothed.

But Pollux's taught beliefs paled in comparison to his inborn desire to please Whoever Was In Charge- and right now, that person was Cassiopiea. And Cassiopeia had, apparently, summoned both his granddaughter and her family. Even if it _was_ only to preserve the family image, that seemed to imply what he was supposed to do next.

For a second so brief that it might not have even happened, Pollux Black shook a muggleborn's hand.

Cygnus spluttered angrily, face beet red, as Andromeda burst into loud laughter. Pollux's own face was red with embarrassment, and he was quite convinced he would rather hide in a tree than continue the evening, when-,

"Well, well! And what do we have here?"

The Malfoys had arrived.

Yes, Pollux would much prefer a tree to the current climate.

Posed aristocratically in the doorway, Lucius and Narcissa looked cooly over the room's occupants while Draco gnawed silently on a toy wand. They had styled themselves meticulously- the forest green velvet of Narcissa's robes matched the dragon leather of Lucius's knee length jacket perfectly, and Draco had been buttoned into a complementary pair of silver knickerbockers.

Pollux looked from them to Andromeda's family to Cygnus and gulped.

It was Ted Tonks who broke the tension. "Alright Lucius? Alright Narcissa? And this must be Draco! We're chuffed to bits to see you all again." A wide grin spreading across his deeply tanned face, he strode towards the startled couple (though, noticeably, he did not offer his hand).

Lucius gaped at him.

Eye twitching as she glared past her muggle born brother-in-law at her sister, Narcissa managed an incredibly crisp. "Hello."

"Our agreement, Cissy?" Andromeda singsonged smugly, and Narcissa's face twisted.

"Draco, I'd like you to meet your Auntie Andromeda." An indelicately long pause. "As well as your cousin, Nymphadora." Such a long pause that Andromeda began to open her mouth. "And your Aunt's husband, Theodore."

"Just Ted, actually. And as your Aunt's husband, I'm also your Uncle buddy." Ted beamed at the totally disinterested Draco as Narcissa clutched the little boy tighter to her hip.

"Dragon?"

The whole room turned to stare at Hermione, perched on her father's knee, head tilted.

"No, not dragon- Draco," Narcissa corrected in a voice as sweet as honey when she recognized the child and her dark curls, so like Bellatrix's had once been.

"Dragon." Hermione repeated stubbornly, prompting an awkward laugh from her mother.

"Daniel's filled Hermione's head with all sorts of stories about how he's played with dragons- I'm afraid she's quite set on them."

As no one in the room would expect a muggle to be on the premises (there _were_ wards for that, after all) and none of them with the possible exception of Ted Tonks had heard of the hit muggle game _Dungeons and Dragons_ , this off hand statement implied heavily that Daniel was a dragon trainer by trade. Lucius and Cygnus eyed him warily- he may not have looked like much, but dragon trainers were known for their fiery tempers and quick wands.

(If Cassiopeia had been there to see it, she'd have been delighted.)

"Well, I'm sure that she'll figure it out soon enough- Draco, can you say hi to Hermione? You two are going to be the best of friends!"

"They are?"

Narcissa shot her husband a quelling look. "Of course they are, Lucius."

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure of being introduced," Andromeda turned to Daniel and Helen. "My name is-,"

"No need to repeat yourself," Helen stood and smiled, easily proffering her own hand. "My name is Helen, this is my husband Daniel, and of course our daughter Hermione. We're very pleased to make all of your acquaintances."

Narcissa looked like she had choked on a button.

"I notice you haven't mentioned your surname," Cygnus murmured slyly, eyeing them from his seat.

"Apologies, we aren't able to tell you that our last name is- is- -is,"

"Daniel!" Helen cried, thumping her husband on the back, "You know we can't say it!"

"My apologies," Daniel took a deep breath as his (well acted) choking slowly ceased. "Tongue tie, you know how it is."

"I do wonder what that ridiculous woman is trying to hide," Cygnus grumbled. "Isn't this a gathering for family?"

Helen shrugged apologetically.

"I didn't realize the Blacks were accepting trash into the family now," Lucius murmured under his breath, eyes locked on Ted.

Without missing a beat: "They've accepted at least one known murderer, so why not add to the mix?"

"Why you-,"

"Enough!" Narcissa hissed, eyes sparking. "Lucius, we agreed-,"

"My apologies, Cissy. I was… overcome." Lucius's sneer made quite clear what he had been 'overcome' by.

"Cissy, our agreement was to play nice," Andromeda's tone was warning, but Narcissa wasn't budging.

"And your mudblood husband isn't playing nice himself!"

"Don't call my dad a mudblood!"

"Language! There is a toddler present!"

"If your husband wasn't such a stuck up pretty princess-,"

"How dare you, you… you… b-,"

Pollux, fortunately, fainted before the first spells were cast.

* * *

_18:45 GMT: 5.25 hrs till the funeral_

Cassiopeia glanced around the conservatory with pursed lips as she surveyed her handiwork. "Can you even imagine, Pip? Attacking one another at a funeral!"

Eyes wide, Pip stared at her mistress in shock. She had never seen Cassiopeia use such aggressive magic- banishing Andromeda and Narcissa to the same closet sans wand had been positively inspired (inspired by a wayward blasting curse sending pieces of what had once been a rather gorgeous burning butterfly tree all over them to be exact).

"Are you lot alright?" Cassiopeia's fierce glare turned to the Granger family huddled in the center of the room.

"Erm, yes- Hermione's dress ripped a bit is all-,"

"Of course it did!"

"Now, Aunt Cassie…"

"Alphard, I thought you were a dueling champion or something. Couldn't you have prevented any of this?"

"I may have been a bit late," Pollux's second child said sheepishly. "I figured I should help Father out instead."

Cassiopeia's eye twitched.

"Missy Cassiopeia is not having time to have a melt," Pip murmured, regaining her own composure in the face of her schedule. "Missy is having biscuits instead."

"That'll do too, I suppose."

* * *

_19:00 GMT: 5.00 hrs till the funeral_

It was a rather bedraggled group of people who were brought in from the conservatory (Pollux included, having been hit with a rennervate by his fuming younger sister) to the cocktail hour to mingle with the yet put together crowd that had been gathered in Melania's sitting room.

"What on earth happened to you?" Arcturus murmured to Pollux, but the younger man just gave him a weak shrug.

From the front room, Cassiopeia tapped her spoon on her glass. "If you'll all excuse me, we've one more family member to join us before dinner. Do try not to poison one another- again, its-,"

The entirety of the Black family as one: "Against the rules on a funeral day."

"Precisely," Cassiopeia said crisply, and, with a flourish of her robes, spun and left the room.

* * *

_19:15 GMT: 4.75 hrs till the funeral_

Amelia Bones sighed heavily, glancing from the front door of Black Manor to the auror team standing beside her.

This was a terrible idea.

She probably shouldn't have agreed to it.

"Ma'am, the prisoner is waking up."

"Stupefy her one more time for now."

"Ma'am?"

"You heard me, Robbards."

She definitely shouldn't have agreed to it.

But when Walburga Black had offered to spill the beans on half of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's financial backers in exchange for attendance at her husband's funeral?

It would seem reasonable if she hadn't killed him herself- then again, funerals were awfully important to the Blacks.

"Ma'am, the stupefy didn't seem to take very well."

Amelia glared fiercely at Robbards. "What does that mean?"

"It just… it just didn't feel right, ma'am." Hesitant, Robbards shifted from foot to foot without taking his eyes off his prisoner. His partner glanced warily at him.

"Keep an eye on her- she seems unconscious to me," Amelia said, her voice firm but her mind conflicted. Suddenly she had to wonder if there was a secondary purpose to Walburga's odd agreement.

She most definitely shouldn't have agreed to any of it.

But whatever happened wasn't on her head alone- after all, someone else had had to agree as well.

"Hello," Cassiopeia Black smiled as the front doors flew open of their own accord. "You are welcome to come into Black Manor."

Amelia wondered what would happen if she had entered without that particular welcome.

Probably nothing good.

"Do come in," did Cassiopeia seem a bit frazzled? Maybe she was regretting this too. "Best to get things settled before dinner."

Amelia was fairly sure she was just being paranoid when Walburga's lips seemed to twitch as she was floated into the house.

* * *

_20:00 GMT: 4 hrs till the funeral_

Albus Dumbledore smiled as he checked his pocket watch. "Ah, yes, right on schedule aren't we Fawkes? I hear the dinner bell ringing now."

Fawkes shot him a vaguely disapproving look out of one beady eye before turning his head away.

"Yes, yes, I understand that this may seem a tad drastic, but its in all of our best interest if we take advantage of the family's distraction now to ensure they cannot access young Harry." Dumbledore paused, glancing at the architectural sketch of Black Manor he had _liberated_ from the Ministry. "It is for the greater good."

He creeped down the hall, turning into the room designated as the Head Office, beaming when he saw the focus of his trip: The Official Black Family Tapestry.

"Right- first we'll need to dismantle the top layer of existing spells in the house," he murmured, pulling what looked like a lighter out of his pocket and flicking it once, twice, three times.

Whatever he was looking for, it apparently worked, as he smiled a self-satisfied little grin at his increasingly huffy companion. "There we go- now just a little bit of-,"

Raising his wand, Albus pointed at the tiny figure of Harry Potter on the tapestry and-

The room lit up with bright white and purple lights, spinning uncontrollably out of the corners of the room towards Albus. He raised an arm in front of his face and dispelled a particularly nasty red beam, but-

The unconscious form of one meddling wizard collapsed onto the floor, surrounded by a perfect cube of dark light that even his Phoenix couldn't break through. His plot had, apparently, not gone quite as he had expected and, unbeknownst to him, his one successful move had not only dispelled some unknown layer of protection on the tapestry but had also lifted many of the other temporary spells on items and occupants in the house.

Like the weak stupefy on Walburga Black.

Like the temporary wards on the room that Orion's body rested in.

Albus Dumbledore did very little, but he also managed to do quite a lot.

* * *

_20:30 GMT: 3.5 hrs till the funeral_

Walburga lay very, very still in the corner of the formal dining room she had been left in, two aurors in front of her.

Around the table sat her family- not _her_ family anymore, the bunch of blood traitors. If she just barely opened her eyes and focused hard enough, she could hear Arcturus's snide comments to the man across from him, Lucius's frosty commentary, and Callidora's smug commentary. Was that Andromeda's voice too?

The family had gone to the dogs, Walburga thought, and they deserved no part in _her_ husband's funeral. Orion may have been weak, but he had served her well until his final weakness, and she would not have him (or herself) disrespected with these dirty traitors in attendance at his funeral.

* * *

_20:45 GMT: 3.25 hrs till the funeral_

Amelia Bones glanced over from the table (where she had, unfortunately, been invited to join dinner) to the auror team guarding Walburga and frowned.

"Robbards, why did you move the prisoner?"

"What?" Robbards asked, spinning around in a sudden flare of panic, only to find the space behind him empty.

Amelia's eye twitched and her nostrils flared, but she did an admirable job resisting the urge to groan and a volley of shrill voices from around the table rose around her.

"I want her found immediately!"

* * *

_21:00 GMT: 3 hrs till the funeral_

"I would like you all to join us in the hunt for Walburga. Except for you Pollux, you should probably take a nap." Cassiopeia looked out at the whole family (with the exception of Narcissa and Andromeda, who she had admittedly forgotten about in their time out) from her seat at the head of the table and carefully moved her napkin from her lap to the table before standing.

"So you invite my son's killer, and now you expect us to track her down because you allowed her to be lost?" Arcturus slammed his glass on the table and shoved his seat back in his outrage. "What good are you anyways? I knew you'd be a failure as Materfamilias!"

"Watch your mouth," Marius snapped, quick to jump to his twin's defense. "It isn't Cassiopeia's fault you allowed your son to be married to the harpy-,"

"Pollux, go take a nap immediately," Melania interrupted as if no one else was speaking. "Arcturus, please join the rest of us in searching for Walburga."

" _All_ of us won't be useful," Arcturus muttered, glaring over the table in Marius's direction. "Some of us are filthy, dirty-,"

Whatever ending Arcturus has planned for his insult, it never made it out- Marius had launched himself bodily across the table and planted his fist firmly in his older cousin's face.

"Expelliarmus!" Cassiopeia snapped quickly, and repeated the spell till she had every wand in the room in her hands. "Marius, what are you-,"

"Don't worry," Agnes said cheerfully as she watched her husband slam a fistful of potatoes in Arcturus's face as the pair rolled down the dining room table. "No reason to break them up, he can take him."

"Why I never- _primitive muggle fighting in my house_?!"

"Oh shut up already," Agnes snapped at Melania unapologetically, "Otherwise I'll drag you into a knockout fight too."

* * *

_21:30 GMT: 2.5 hrs till the funeral_

Pip hesitated as she trailed along behind her mistress, who was angrily attempting to use the Head bond to locate Walburga to no avail.

"Missy Cassiopeia?"

"If it's bad news, you'd best have biscuits Pip."

"Have a biscuit Missy Cassiopeia," the elf said quickly, and shoved four into her mistress's hand. "Pip is not exactly having good news."

Cassiopeia paused to stare at her elf.

"Pip was checking on Orion as Missy requested, and he's gone."

"Gone?"

"The wards is down, and he is not being there Missy Cassiopeia."

Cassiopeia closed her eyes and counted slowly to one hundred. When that didn't work- "More biscuits, Pip."

* * *

_22:00 GMT: 2 hrs till the funeral_

"Has anyone located Walburga yet?" Cassiopeia asked the family members assembled in the front room, only to be met with a chorus of negative responses.

"Shouldn't you have been able to use the family magic to get to her?" Arcturus demanded, "Are you the materfamilias or not? I think the family magic-,"

"Shut your mouth or I'll shut it for you all over again," Marius threatened from the other side of the room. Both were covered in food and sporting rather impressive bruises for two men who had never fought before in their lives.

"Enough!" Helen interrupted, "Cassiopeia, is Walburga not attached the way that-,"

Cassiopeia interrupted her quickly. "She should be, but something feels incredibly wrong to me right now. It's like the lines that bind family members to me have become thick and blurry- large circles of area instead of pinpoints. It's incredibly curious."

"That sounds like something being wrong with the tapestry." Everyone turned to look at Alphard. "What? I read the family grimoires when I was bored one summer! It's like a user manual."

* * *

_22:15 GMT: 1.75 hrs till the funeral_

Cassiopeia stared from Albus Dumbledore to the family tapestry in shock. An initial attempt to free him from the magical shields entrapping him had resulted in a mini-explosion- she was now covered in dust and soot and her hair had fallen completely.

"Biscuits, Pip."

"Missy is also needing to know that there is a mob."

"A… mob?"

"Yes, there is being a mob at the front gate."

"And why is there a mob at the front gate?"

"They is apparently saying that the Longbottom's should be freed."

"Freed? Freed! They've been with us in France for days now! Why are the protesting _now_?"

"Chateau Black is unplottable, Missy Cassiopea. Apparently they has been waiting to confirm that you were here at Black Manor in England so they could complain."

"More biscuits immediately!"

"Uhm, Missy Cassiopeia? We is being out of biscuits."

"Oh, bloody hell!"


	26. Orion's Funeral: Part 3

_December 11, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

_22:45 GMT: 1.25 hours till the funeral_

"Pull yourself together darling, this is entirely fixable. Now, what closet did you lock your nieces in?"

"Which ones?"

Isla shot Cassiopeia a Particular Look. "Have you made a habit of locking all of your nieces in closets today?"

"I certainly ought to have. Do consider the experiment's results- my great nieces haven't caused a bit of trouble from the closet, while my niece has stolen her husband's body." Cassiopeia paused thoughtfully. "In theory, Arcturus would have been much less irritating if I'd locked him in a closet, too."

"Ought of sight is out of mind, but not out of trouble," Isla admonished. "Your great-nieces at once, if you please."

With a deeply felt sigh (she was quite uncertain why anyone would not appreciate her purely scientific realizations regarding the ability to manage one's family), Cassiopeia trotted out the door and down the hall, leaving Isla and Pip to stand guard over Albus Dumbledore.

"The imprisonment wards were easy enough to remove, but it's curious how much dark magic is lingering," Isla murmured to herself, crouching back down in an oddly delicate squat. "It's like some kind of…"

Trailing off thoughtfully, she waved her wand carefully over the length of Dumbledore's prone form, chanting under her breath all the while.

"Someone has been playing with things they should not."

"Pardon?" Cassiopeia reappeared in the doorway, wand held out behind her as if conducting an orchestra, or-

"Missy Cassiopeia, is you really needing to keep floating them?" Pip asked skeptically as they all turned to look at Andromeda and Narcissa floating in the air, robes ripped and hair looking distinctly yanked.

"I thought the time crunch made it logical," Cassiopeia shrugged airily. "Now- you were saying, Isla?"

"Nothing terribly important, darling, just noticing that our dear friend here has been tampering in things that even I haven't heard about. If you'll look at this…" A swish of Isla's wand as she stood brought a shimmering phantom of Dumbledore into the air, pulsing with different colored lights.

"When did you take up studying internal magical compositions?"

"Oh, it was a basic part of my charms apprenticeship- and I studied the more interesting bits alongside warding. Remarkably similar spell structures, you know."

"Unsurprising. After all, the first wards were loosely based off of the biological studies of-,"

"Missy Cassiopeia?"

"Ah, yes, Pip. Please proceed, Isla."

Pointing to a bright whirl of grey and black hovering over the phantom Dumbledore's stomach: "Your home-defense system- which you really must make time to read about, darling, there are children underfoot- has found something that it doesn't like. Currently, your family magic is acting as a defensive barrier around it."

Cassiopeia leaned back against the desk and crossed her arms. "And the implications of this?"

Isla shrugged. "Undetermined- _you haven't read the manual_. It could be ill will towards the family, or towards a specific member of the family. It could be a specific spell that Dumbledore has placed or has had placed on himself in the past. It could be some sort of magical infection. It could be a spell he was about to cast when the wards went off in the first place. We won't be able to confirm unless you read the manual or he's able to tell us himself."

"Unless he's able to- ah, so that's what you're up to, is it?" Cassiopeia spun to look at Narcissa and Andromeda, still floating unceremoniously behind her.

Isla's smile was sharp. "Oh, yes."

Both younger women fell to the ground as Cassiopeia flicked her wand once more in their direction, the silencing and petrification spells that she had precautionarily hit them with disappearing in the same moment.

"I never!" Narcissa spluttered indignantly, shaking out her robes and looking much more like a hissing cat than a socialite.

"Hardly friendly behavior, Aunt," Andromeda agreed, glaring up at Cassiopeia from her elbows. "Entirely unnecessary!"

"I suppose that depends on what you deem necessary- for instance, I consider keeping you from blowing up the entire Manor incredibly necessary."

Narcissa scoffed. "There was hardly any danger of _that_."

"Oh? Both of your husbands had evacuated your children- they were practically working together. And according to Alphard, such an event is as shocking as it is unrealistic."

Andromeda smiled. "Well, then, it seems that there was a positive!"

"If I may?" Isla and Cassiopeia exchanged a look.

"Right, back to the matter at hand. Narcissa, you were trained to be a Healer, weren't you?"

Narcissa looked taken aback. "How did you know that?"

Her surprise was nothing compared to Andromeda's. "You planned a _career_ Cissy?"

Narcissa stuck out her tongue. "At least I don't actually _have_ to have one!"

"I'll have you know that-,"

"Children, you must behave now," Isla's firm voice brooked no argument, and the usual coyness had left her expression. "Narcissa, you will confirm the amount of training you've had."

Grudgingly: "The basics, mostly. I did several training camps and more on-the-spot learning through the war."

"Ah yes, the war where your husband-,"

"And Andromeda, you've continued studying memories and the mind in general since school?" Cassiopeia interrupted quickly, pointing her wand threateningly.

Andromeda huffed and nodded the affirmative.

"Lovely. Then the two of you are going to work together and figure out exactly what Dumbledore was doing prior to the wards attacking him."

"What?!"

Cassiopeia beamed. "It'll be no trouble for you, I'm sure."

"Unless, of course, you're both inept." Isla's sly smile was proof enough that she felt like the cat who'd caught the canary at last.

Ego and hurt pride warred briefly in each sister's eyes. Finally, Narcissa sighed. "Shall we, Meda?"

"Only if we must."

* * *

_23:00 GMT: 1 hour till the funeral_

Isla glanced up from her pocket watch with a frown. "Darling, I can oversee this- you need to turn your attention to the tapestry, if that is what your guest tried to tamper with."

Cassiopeia hummed.

"Yes, well, there is the dual issue that I can no longer feel anyone's presence quite so clearly- more of a wide radius, if you will." Wondering over to look more closely at the tapestry, she frowned. "It is…. Faint."

"Missy is feeling faint?" Anxiously, Pip hovered behind her mistress with fingers posed to snap and transport them both home and to bed.

"No, no- not in that way, Pip. I mean the tapestry itself is feeling faint, as if-," Cassiopeia's eyes widened. "As if someone had wiped away a few layers of paint and left the canvas splotchy."

"Layers of… paint?" Pip asked doubtfully, eyeing the heavy materials that the original Family Tapestry had been built of (few of which were paint).

"It is an _analogy,_ Pip," Cassiopeia murmured distractedly. "A knife, if you would."

"A knife, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"A knife," Cassiopeia confirmed firmly, and with a quick _snap_! Pip procured one for her, The little elf squeaked in alarm as she promptly used it to slice open her palm.

"No need for that, Pip. Merely… reapplying some paint." Cassiopeia's stormy eyes were wide and her hair rose around her, sparking, as she slowly pressed her bloody hand against her own, younger image on the tapestry.

The result was instant- Cassiopeia's blood poured onto the wall, concentrating in the fat apple shaped indent that her image rested in. The green silk border emanated an increasingly bright light, spreading from her own apple to those of the other living families.

The longer Cassiopeia bled freely, the more blinding the glow became.

An odd sort of buzzing tension filled the room- thick, old magic that made the air nearly impossible to breathe. A pregnant pause, and-

A thunderous _boom!_ shook the room as the blood that had pooled in Cassiopeia's apple spread rapidly along the lines of the tree, connecting her to each individual name. She had begun to look pale as she kept offering more and more of herself, but she remained standing as the lights on the tree suddenly expanded to encapture the whole wall in a blinding glow.

"Mea sunt!" The Black Materfamilias intoned firmly, pressing her wand against her cut hand. "Mea sunt! Una Doma Somas! Mea sunt! Una Doma Somas!"

Blue orbs of light spiraled individually from within the glowing wall, sinking into Cassiopeia's chest above her heart, then-

All of the lights abruptly blinked out, the blood absorbing into the tree. The air slowly became more bearable to breathe and, even as Cassiopeia tapped her wand against her hand to seal the cut in it, she fell to her knees.

"Missy Cassiopeia!" Pip shrieked, hovering anxiously at her shoulder. "Missy Cassiopeia was giving too much!

"What on earth did you do?" Isla demanded, her customary coolness gone in the face of her deathly pale best friend.

"Whatever his goal was, he started by removing the blood connections added by members of the family over the past half decade- it disconnected me from everyone on the tree," Cassiopeia explained slowly, panting. "I just… replaced the paint, so to speak. Rebonded to each of them by blood as well as magic to make sure…. And yes, it worked I think."

"Oh?"

From her place on the ground, Cassiopeia smiled triumphantly. "I do believe I know where Walburga is."

"That is good," Pip said solemnly, though worry still wrinkled her eyes. "Because Missy Cassiopeia is only having a half hour left."

"Will they finish in time?" Cassiopeia asked Isla, nodding in the direction of her great nieces who had apparently sent Dumbledore into some kind of trance as they pulled a silvery substance from his mouth.

"No worry at all," Narcissa murmured smugly. "We… are… done." Slowly, she lowered the old man to the ground and stood. To everyone's surprise, she then offered her older sister a hand.

"Will it keep, whatever that is?" Isla directed her question towards Andromeda, who was carefully stoppering a conjured glass bottle.

"Oh, certainly. Memories always do, when they're unattached, and the thoughts we drew out won't fracture for at least a week- maybe two."

"We're hardly amateurs," Narcissa added, nose in the air as Andromeda nodded her agreement.

"Lovely. Just what to do with your uninvited guest?"

"I still can't believe Albus Dumbledore himself crashed our funeral," Andromeda murmured. "It hasn't really sunk in that I just performed dubiously legal mind magic on the most powerful wizard in Europe."

"Frankly, I find you agreeing to do something to protect the family without question the more shocking part," Narcissa muttered half heartedly, "But I must say, if this was two months ago…"

"Indeed," agreed Cassiopeia. "But then is not now, and I think I know how we can work this to our advantage."

* * *

_23:30 GMT: 0.5 hours till the funeral_

Robes clean and hair coiffed, Cassiopeia kept an appropriately friendly-grieving expression on her face as she walked down the cobbled lane towards the locked, barred, and warded front gates.

Directly into the arms of the protestors.

"2-4-6-8, Longbottoms deserve a better fate! 1-3-5-9, these Blacks are bad by design! 2-4-6- Is… is that Albus Dumbledore?" The chanting slowed to a confused halt.

Cassiopeia smiled behind one gloved hand.

"Albus, I must repeat my appreciation for your interest in the matter of locating my great-nephew." If Cassiopeia's voice sounded particularly loud, why, she and Albus were both older, so likely one of them had less than perfect hearing. It would have nothing to do with needing her words to carry over the assembled crowd. Mob. Confused gathering. "However, Black customs dictate only family is allowed on the property during funerals- safer, with all the magic going around."

Albus Dumbledore nodded seriously.

"However, I'll look forward to you agreeing to a nice little sitdown to further discuss what was covered today." Cassiopeia continued, "After all, I'm sure you have many questions. I know I do."

Albus hummed.

"Why, dear me- what a crowd! I'm afraid, as I was actually just telling Albus here, that we do not allow visitors on funeral days."

"We want back the Longbottoms!"

"Yeah! We're prepared to burn this place down to get them!"

"I do so hate to disappoint, but the Longbottoms are being treated in France at this time. Also, you wouldn't be able to burn down Black Manor- I've only today had quite the interesting lesson in its wards."

"Why are you here Dumbledore? You're supposed to be a good guy!"

Dumbledore looked at Cassiopeia a bit panickily.

"Albus is currently the only one who knows the whereabouts of my great nephew, and stopped by to further discuss," Cassiopeia interjected smoothly.

The crowd side stepped and shuffled and murmured. "I thought he was the one who said the Longbottoms had been kidnapped? And that the Blacks experiments were likely to kill them?"

"A misunderstanding," Dumbledore muttered quickly, his voice surprisingly high pitched for the one time savior of the wizarding world (only recently overshadowed by a toddler).

"I do hope you'll all give us the courtesy of a weeks time, after which I'm sure Madam Longbottom will be happy to share a progress report on the Longbottoms- we have a progress check and a scheduled visit with their son."

Steam lost and pitchforks (metaphorical and otherwise) lowered, the mob stared as Albus stepped out the gates and, nodding to them all, disappeared into the night.

* * *

_23:50 GMT: 10 minutes till the funeral_

Hidden back in what had been Arcturus's office, Cassiopeia gagged as the Polyjuice potions effects wore off. "Ugh, if I never play an old man again, it'll be too soon."

"I suppose that depends on what you mean by play," Isla murmured, using her wand to replace Dumbledore's clothing. "However, did you realize how short you are?"

"Actually, my height is precisely-,"

"Best hurry, darling. You've a corpse to recover."

Isla laughed aloud as she watched Cassiopeia hurry from the room, turning her attention to the yet stunned Hogwarts Headmaster behind her. "Now, time to call in a favor from _your_ favorite brother."

* * *

_23:57 GMT: 3 minutes till the funeral_

Followed closely by Cassiopeia, the remainder of the Black family, several house elves, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and a two-person auror team; a tiny blue orb of light bobbed its way across the Black grounds towards the family cemetery.

It reared up in front of them quickly- dozens of tall stone statues in careful circles around a high black marble slab. On top of the slab, piles of wood had been carefully stacked, and, between them, lay Walburga and Orion Black.

Cassiopeia raised her hand when the auror team moved to rush forward. "A moment, if you please."

"Stay back!" Walburga shrieked, sitting back and pulling Orion close to her, "You blood traitors won't ruin Orion's funeral!"

"WIll you, then?" Cassiopeia asked calmly, approaching on her own after gesturing for the family to wait as well.

"Filth! Wretches! Traitors! Vile mudblood lovers!" Walburga screamed, "How dare you insult me? Me, the only honorable one of the family!"

"More like you, the biggest piece of work of us all." Cassiopeia murmured, then, louder. "Do come down, Walburga. We need to begin at once. Your choice is to climb down on your own and join us, or not be present at all- either way, the fire will be started at midnight when the full moon begins to wane."

"I won't! This is an indignity! This is insanity! The Black family is now fallen!"

"Why reason with her, Cousin?" Arcturus demanded, "Just leave her and light her up, too!"

Amelia Bones cringed. "I'll just pretend I didn't hear that."

"Absolutely not, Arcturus, our son will not go out with that harpy!"

"Both of you, please just-," Cassiopeia cut herself off, sighing. "Right, never mind, no time for this."

Raising her hand into the air, Cassiopeia muttered under her breath till the blue ball of light that had guided her to Walburga grew, spiralling faster and faster, til it was about the size of a large trunk. It dropped slowly- too slowly, if Cassiopeia's impatient expression meant anything- over Walburga's form, absorbing her completely and then shooting off the platform to sit at Cassiopeia's feet.

Almost immediately, and with timing so impeccable that stage managers across the country trembled in their sleep, the funeral pyre exploded into thousands of purple and blue flames.

"Boom!" Draco shrieked from his mother's arms, "Boom! Boom! Boom!"

"We must begin at once," Cassiopeia said calmly, ignoring the blue ball of Walburga beside her and fixing her eyes on the fire. With slow, measured steps she approached the pyre, taking her stance at the head. "Nos dimittere nostris mortuus est. Nos dimittere nostris mortuus est. Nos dimittere nostris mortuus est."

One by one, the other Blacks followed her, taking up the chant as they found their place in the circle. They went by age- Arcturus, then Callidora, then Pollux, then Marius approached, one per side, followed by the next generations: Lucretia, Alphard, Cygnus, Andromeda, Daniel, Narcissa, Nymphadora and (with some coaching on the part of their parents) Hermione and Draco (though the toddlers were, fortunately, not expected to chant). The blood relatives' partners stood on the outside of the circle, hands on their spouses shoulders.

With everyone in position, the chanting became faster, louder- twisting into something darker, more musical, the smoke and old magic rising and spreading through the air like a thick purple fog. The flames on the pyre burned higher, higher, higher- quickly surpassing even the distant roof of Black Manor. The fire had remained on either side of Orion's corpse, he himself surrounded by a white glow.

As the chanting reached a fever pitch, the flames grew pure white for a long minute, the light the only thing cutting through the purple fog that had thickened so the Black family members couldn't see their own hand in front of their face. With a sudden thunderous crack of lightning that seemed to strike from nowhere in the clear side, the flames consumed the entire pyre, the fog rushed inward, and, in one last glowing moment, Orion Black disappeared forever.

"Merlin," whispered Robards, knees quaking inside the protective bubble that Cassiopeia had insisted himself, his partner, and Amelia stay within before they entered the grounds. "I've heard… but that…"

"I thought funerals were for saying nice things about one another," Amelia agreed, "But that… that was…"

"That was old magic."

* * *

_December 12, 1981_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

_01:30 GMT_

Cassiopeia smiled at her family, all settled around the most formal dining room's table. Their positions had been carefully planned- Daniel and Helen had been sat closest to her, her brothers were in the middle, and Arcturus was and Cygnus were at the lowest end with the others placed in between.

"I'll thank each of you for an incredibly enlightening experience this evening. In addition to seeing Orion through the veil and reclaiming his magic for the family, tonight we join as one to usher in our next generation." Cassiopeia leaned down and, with a bit of effort, drew Hermione up to stand on the table before her. "Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my heir, Hermione, now of the Blacks."


	27. 4 Privet Drive

_December 11, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

_17:00 GMT- Day of Orion Black's funeral_

Filius Flitwick beamed as the last of his final Friday class pushed and shoved their way out of his door. "Enjoy your weekends, and remember that you have twelve inches on the benefits of sanitation charms due next time we meet!"

He watched the mixed group of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor seventh years as they laughed and poked at one another, suddenly overwhelmingly nostalgic as he took in their flushed faces and cheery laughter. This group of seventh years had been raised during a war, had lost families and friends to it, and now, in the eleventh hour, had been spared the fate of entering adulthood on a battlefield.

Of course they were still a bit high strung- many of them were considering their careers, their futures- actual futures, not just war torn ones- for the very first time. The staff had been complaining about a sudden surge of promise rings and reference letter requests and general rowdiness for weeks.

Not everyone had control over their own future, however.

Filius thought of the students whose families and friends had died, or been imprisoned, or had simply disappeared. Whose newly bright futures would be forever tainted by a heart wrenchingly tragic past. Who may not be graduating onto a battlefield, but who nonetheless had an incredibly long journey ahead of them, evidenced by the way they remained quietly withdrawn or aggressively defensive.

And the seventh years weren't the only ones whose lives had just changed dramatically.

_Harry Potter._

It had now been over six weeks since anyone had seen the boy, and though the public was no longer screaming quite so loudly about their child savior (the 'raining stars' and other 'indecent violations of the statute of secrecy' had, once the Ministry threatened prosecution, finally ceased), Dumbledore continued to insist he was better off where he was. Safer from fame, safer from the public eyes.

The more Filius considered it, the more he wondered why the boy being famous should be such a big deal to Dumbledore- after all, this was a war orphan likely in dire need of love and support. Surely Dumbledore wasn't-

But Filius has promised Minerva not to jump to conclusions. After all, they hadn't performed their wellness check as of yet, and Minerva insisted that there remained a chance that Filius was being paranoid. After all, Albus Dumbledore made odd choices, but had he not always had the good of the whole wizarding world at heart?

And yet…

"Good afternoon, Filius."

Shaken from his thoughts, Filius turned and nodded towards Minerva as she pulled his door shut behind her.

"Ready for our weekend trip?"

"Certainly, it's been some time since we've had the chance to attend a seminar." Filius glanced from the portraits behind his podium of Charms Masters past (all whose primary responsibility was to the Headmaster of the school) to the closed door and shook his head carefully.

"I'm amazed how many scholars apparently hid themselves away during the war, that they scheduled such a large weekend event."

"A full two and a half days does feel a bit unusual- but I read in the paper that they'd had to reschedule every intended speaker from the past two years."

Minerva groaned. "Bugger- that means Garnicia VanHorn is back, doesn't it?"

Laughing, Filius opened the door and gestured for his colleague to continue out ahead of him. "Now, Minerva, surely you've given up your grudge by now."

"She tried to sleep with my husband- forgive me my ongoing dislike."

It had been twenty two days since Rita Skeeter's first article about the Black family had resulted in Minerva's agreement to investigate Harry's wellbeing. Twenty two long days during which Filius had occluded his mind during staff meetings and smiled at his boss and wondered quietly to himself: about Dumbledore's motivations, about little Harry Potter, and about the people who had died after trusting the wrong person (whoever that was).

He'd waited, albeit impatiently, for Minerva to find a good excuse for them to leave the school together- after all, as Deputy Headmistress, Minerva had to be available anytime Dumbledore was not. And Dumbledore, Filius had rapidly realized, very frequently was not.

(Who had thought it a good idea to make the Headmaster a vital piece of the current government- on a national _and_ international level? Even the most advanced time turners only gave back an extra five hours in the day!)

The educational seminars in London had turned out to be the perfect excuse- Dumbledore had no interest in the event, and so he could hardly deny two of his core teachers the chance to attend for the weekend. After all, as a premier institution of learning, Hogwarts was required to be represented at most major scholarly functions.

"I've made arrangements for rooms in Diagon Alley, so that we can walk and shop between sessions," Minerva said cheerfully, her voice pitched to carry to the portraits they were passing. "Really, it ought to be quite the mini vacation."

"Vacation? It's been so long I've forgotten what they are," Filius nodded to two passing students as they stepped out the massive front doors. "Do people still take those?"

A dry chuckle. "I wouldn't know- these days I feel like 'teacher' and 'person' aren't always synonymous."

Moving quickly, the pair made their way past the lake to the front gates, careful to keep both tones and topics light until they passed the wards. Once free, Minerva held up four fingers- a predetermined warning for the number of stops to be made on their way to their final (final!) location- before offering her arm and apparating them both into the twilight.

* * *

_December 11, 1981_

_4 Privet Drive, Surrey_

When Filius first saw the Dursleys, it was from behind. Instantly, he was struck by how similar Petunia's willowy build and upright posture were to her late sister's.

Then they turned around- and the vision was shattered.

A year prior, Filius had picked up a copy of Ronald Dahl's _The Twits_ for a niece's birthday. He'd read it before wrapping it (it would be particularly scandalous for the Head of Ravenclaw to gift a book they hadn't opened), and a particular passage came to the forefront of his mind as he stared with some shock at Petunia Dursley.

"If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until you can hardly bear to look at it." Filius closed his eyes, thinking of how vibrant Lily Evans had been as she threw her head back and laughed when she perfected a new charm. "A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts it will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."

"That's…. An interesting philosophical statement?" Minerva glanced at him oddly. "I mean, I can certainly appreciate the sentiment, but-,"

"I'll lend you the book," Filius interrupted quickly, shaking his head as his eyes tracked the Dursleys. "Really, though, how could that possibly be-,"

"Lily Evans' sister? I thought the same. Apparently she was always very… bitter. Maybe there's something to be said for your philosophies."

"Not mine, Ronald Dahl's- good god, Minerva, surely that small bear isn't Harry Potter?"

They'd apparated to their hotel in Diagon Alley, to a book shop, to a muggle alley near one of Minerva's favorite fish shops, and had finally ended their journey in the loo of the park nearest Privet Drive. A quick set of notice-me-not spells later, and they were striding towards 4 Privet Drive. Minerva, having been there on one previous occasion, had silently led Filius to the shrubs beneath the large picture window to peer in the living room at the family.

At first, the domestic scene before them seemed _perfectly normal_ \- Vernon was watching TV, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone and his socked feet propped up on the recliner, and Petunia was puttering around the room with a dust rag, occasionally peering into the small playpen that a very fat blonde baby was shrieking from. It was the oversized cherub that Filius and Minerva were now staring at, somewhat aghast, clearly each wondering what fertilizers one had to mix with formula to generate such a particularly round and blob-like child.

Minerva frowned, then breathed a brief sigh of relief. "Oh, no, wrong baby."

"Pardon?"

"Lily's sister had a child the same month she did- Dudley is his name. I saw him during my first visit- frightful cretin then, and he seems to have doubled in size since I saw him last."

"Doubled in size?" Filius asked doubtfully, starting at the chunky toddler slamming his head against the ground with wilful abandon.

"Quite."

"In six weeks?"

Minerva hummed in agreement.

"I'd hate to insinuate I'm a baby expert but, Minerva, surely that isn't healthy!" Filius protested.

One auburn brow arching high, Minerva faced him with narrowed eyes. "Are you insinuating that I, for some reason, am an authority on babies?"

Seeing a hole out of which he could quite possibly not dig himself free of quickly enough, Filius turned back to the window. "If that isn't Harry, then where is he?"

The longer they sat, the more concerning the question became. The professors observed as the three Dursleys took dinner in the kitchen, and there was no other child to be seen. The Dursleys returned to the living room, but only one child was sat in front of the telly for the evening cartoons.

As the evening wore on, they began to notice other singularly odd items in a home that was supposed to contain not one but two toddlers. A single high chair. A single walker. A single toy box with a D on it. Recent looking family pictures (based on Dudley's size in the photo) featuring only the three Dursleys. A single sippy on the counter. A single set of toddlers shoes in the drying pan by the front door.

Filius thought about Isla's statement that, for the sake of her younger sister, Cassiopeia Black wanted to know that Harry Potter was safe and being cared for.

Minerva thought about Dumbledore's repeated assurances that Harry would be safest here, with these people.

Both agreed, quietly at first and more vehemently as the night progressed, that the second the lights were out they were going inside.

Fortunately, they were well prepared for a long wait- in fact, Filius had remembered to pack an entire basket of smashed butter sandwiches (Filius' stakeout food of choice) which they were only just finishing snacking on when Vernon blearily stomped up the stairs towards bed, Petunia on his heels. Thirty minutes later, the house went dark. Minerva's watch blinked 23:20.

"What are the odds we get arrested for this?" Filius tapped his wand on the front door handle, silencing the hinges before gently swinging it open.

Minerva huffed. "What, do you also expect me to be the master on break ins?"

"Hardly- but you _did_ spend several years at the ministry, and you've the sharpest mind for muggle interaction laws of anyone I know," Filius hissed, rolling his eyes as he crept into the hall.

"Oh- well, technically, this isn't illegal unless we harm them or cast magic that affects them adversely."

"Does keeping them asleep count as affecting them adversely, or?"

"No, no it does not- in fact, I'd call it a safety precaution for their own good. Shall we start at the top, then?"

"After you, Madam."

Upstairs, they started with the far bedroom, peeking in and casting sleeping spells on the older Dursleys simultaneously.

"Four hour spell?"

"Oh, you only did four hours? I went ahead with twelve- my bad."

Minerva sighed. "That might be harder to explain why it was for their own good."

Filius spared the snoring Vernon one final glance. "I'd be happy to say he _clearly_ needed to sleep through a few meals."

The bathroom was empty (no toddlers hiding in the tub), and the second bedroom was clearly Dudley's- and Dudley's alone.

Minerva cast a careful (short term) sleeping spell on the child, shaking her head as she glanced around the room. "It's certainly enough rubbish to entertain two children. Three children. Five children. Morgana, a whole nursery couldn't use this stuff!"

Unable to resist the urge: "I thought you weren't a baby expert."

"Do kindly stuff it."

The third bedroom had, they realized as they opened the door slowly, had been the place they'd subconsciously assumed they'd find traces of Harry- at least a second crib- but those hopes were immediately dashed. Instead of a second toy store, or even a sparse (normal) nursery, they found a double sized guest bed and second hand furniture, clearly made up for some future guests instead of an infant.

"And you're quite certain Dumbledore left him at _this_ house?"

"Obviously I'm sure, Filius, I did spend the whole day here watching those people, I-,"

"I'm just saying it's odd that there's no sign-"

Back and forth they went, coming through the linen closet and the living room and the kitchen as they bickered to ease their burgeoning apprehension. Finally, unable to find any sign of the wizarding world's infantile hero in the home he had supposedly been taken into, they stopped and stared at one another with matching expressions of acute concern.

"I shouldn't have let Dumbledore convince me he'd be safe on the porch," Minerva murmured, disheartened, pausing before the front door and looking around anxiously.

"Pardon?"

"Maybe Dumbledore circled back and decided that I was right, and took Harry somewhere else without telling me?"

"Can we revisit the porch comment?"

The professors stared at one another silently.

And from the cupboard under the stairs beside them, they heard a soft thud.

Mere months after the end of an entirely too long war, the pair's reflexes remained sharp. Heads swiveling in unison and wands rising to point at the door, both crouched into a dueling stance instantly.

But nothing burst out of the closet to attack.

And no alarm system went off.

"Maybe a mouse?"

"Oh, I'm sure something just fell."

The noise repeated itself.

"Knocked something over when it fell?"

"We can just take a quick peak."

"Right- not like we'll find any sign of little Harry under the stairs when there's… when there's a guest room right upstairs."

"Right. Of course."

Filius reached out his hand slowly, undoing the latch on the cupboard (did normal people latch their cupboards?). Slowly, carefully, he opened the door.

Minerva gasped aloud.

Harry Potter, recognizable by his bright green eyes and the lightning bolt scar across his forehead, lay on a tiny camp cot in the dark space. A single empty bottle of milk was clutched in his hand, and his diaper was beyond full. When the dim moonlight from the hall hit his face, he whimpered and curled into a tight little ball.

"Morgana and Nimue," Minerva murmured, and, any concerns about being a baby expert vanished, she pushed past Filius and sunk to her knees before the child. "Harry, oh Harry, look at me please."

Unable to do more than gape, Filius watched with increasing despair as the child silently stared at Minerva, still shaking violently, fear on his features.

6 weeks- 42 days to be exact.

Harry Potter, an infant who had witnessed an impossible to imagine trauma, had apparently spent 42 days in hell.

_They trusted the wrong person._

_Oh, we can agree on that- but I have to wonder if we'd name the same 'wrong person' as yet._

"I can cast cleaning charms-,"

"This will take more than a scourgify, Filius, he has terrible diaper rash," Minerva murmured, careful to keep her voice gentle as she appraised the toddler. He stared at her as she moved her hands over him, still silent, still fearful.

"I'll be gentle," Filius murmured, crouching as low as he could to look Harry in the eye. "Hello, Harry. My name is Filius, and I knew your mummy and daddy. Can I get you cleaned up? They would have liked you to be tidy, I think."

Harry just stared at him.

It was as if the Dursleys had made certain the child they clearly didn't want knew better than to be seen, knew better to be heard. Filius and Minerva both rankled at the idea of how this lesson had been taught.

Careful to keep his wand within Harry's eyesight, Filius cast several more gentle cleaning charms- watching in despair as each siphoned layers of grime off the child's face and diaper. He finished with basic healing charms on the diaper rash, on the bruises on the small boy's arms and legs.

"Filius, we can't leave him here."

"Obviously not- but I'm not sure how we'll go around Dumbledore's orders for Harry to be kept inside the wards."

"Surely when we tell Dumbledore-,"

"Minerva, does it not strike you as strange that someone as wise as Dumbledore would put an infant on a porch overnight, only to be taken into a family that clearly hates him?" Filius frowned as he realized his voice, when raised, was terrifying Harry. More gently, "I have become increasingly concerned that he has a secondary agenda for the child. I'm sure he has the wizarding world's best interest at heart, but I remember his final orders to the Prewett twins, and I don't know if I believe that he has the best interest of any individual."

"He-who-must-not-be-named is dead, Filius- what agenda could Dumbledore possibly- you know what, never mind. We have other things to handle first. Such as what to do with-,"

In the background, a grandfather clock chimed midnight.

Immediately, the air began to grow thick.

"What on earth?" Filius murmured, his tongue flicking out of his mouth as if to taste the old magic suddenly surrounding them. "It's like it's coming from..."

Both professors turned back to the infant in shock.

"It's definitely coming from Harry," Minerva agreed, "Is that… what's happening? It reminds me of-,"

"It's family magic, too heavy to be accidental magic-,"

"-can't be family magic, no Potters left-,"

"Think, who were the Potters related to who would still be active-,"

"Oh my, it isn't a curse I think, but-,"

The fog was growing thicker around the child, a bright purple color now, and Harry had stopped shaking as if suddenly pleasantly warm.

The professors stared at one another, realization crashing into them at the same time. "The Blacks!"

All at once, every particle of air in the room seemed to rush into Harry's small form, taking the moonlight itself and the purple fog with it. There was a horrible second where neither Filius nor Minerva could breathe, and then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

The child before them was still bruised, still a bit grungy (no scourgify compared to a good bath), and still clearly terrified. But little Harry took a very deep breath, glancing bravely up at these newcomers to his personal hellscape, and said, in a very underused voice: "Mummy? Daddy? Pa'foot-Moony-Wormy? Alice?"


	28. Tangles

_December 12, 1981_

_4 Privet Drive, Surrey_

_00:05_

"Mummy? Daddy? Pa'foot-Moony-Wormy? Alice?"

_Lily. James. Sirius. Remus. Peter. Alice._

How much had this child lost?

_Everything._

"Please excuse me," Minerva's tone was oddly clipped as she slipped past Filius and out of the cupboard. "I'll be back shortly."

She wanted to cry.

She wanted to scream.

She needed a quick smoke, or a strong draft of whiskey. A dozen or more cheering charms.

Instead, she went outside, sat down on the back stoop, and sent a Patronus to Albus Dumbledore.

"Harry Potter is not ok. I will switch positions with you and watch over Hogwarts if you can come at once."

Fifteen minutes passed with no reply, no loud _crack!_ ing noise to signal a phoenix's fiery arrival. Frustrated, she tried again.

"Albus, you are needed at once at 4 Privet Drive. There has been a terrible mistake, and it must be remedied at once."

_Lily. James. Sirius. Remus. Peter. Alice._

Lily was dead- she could not save her child from this hell. So were James and Peter.

Sirius was… Minerva stopped herself from considering Sirius Black too closely. He had been too silly not to love (her all time favorite student, if she was being honest), with his outrageous proposals and dramatic stories and always apparent soft side. Starved for affection, starved for friendship- yes, Minerva had loved each of her students, but she'd held a special spot in her heart for the Black heir. She still couldn't believe….

Though Rita Skeeter claimed he'd had no trial. Filius thought there was something else afoot.

And Dumbledore still had not replied or arrived.

A third Patronus: "Albus! Where on earth are you? I need you to be here immediately or- where are you?"

_Lily. James. Sirius. Remus. Peter. Alice._

Remus and Alice were still alive, but Alice was incapacitated and Remus was… Actually, did anyone know where Remus was? Minerva hadn't seen him in months- on a special mission, Dumbledore had always said, though he refused to say even that much to anyone else.

_It is safer for everyone involved if they don't know everything._

That hadn't worked out, not at all.

Minerva sat on the stoop for the better part of the hour, Harry's words and the faces of her past students cycling through her head like a carousel.

"We can't wait here forever, Minerva."

Minerva felt Filius standing behind her, but didn't turn. "I've sent three messages, and nothing."

There was a long, considering silence, and then: "Minerva, I know you're close with Albus, but-,"

Minerva stood and spun around, spine made of steel and eyes spitting fire as she caught sight of Harry sitting silently in arms.

Staring into those big, hopeful green eyes, Minerva McGonagall made up her mind.

"But nothing. If he won't come and face his failure, then we'll take it to him."

* * *

_December 12, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

_Early morning hours_

Unwilling to be caught up in the magical backlash that would follow the funeral, Isla had made quick work of dragging Albus Dumbledore's cursed, prone form through the fireplace and into her own sitting room.

"Tolly!"

The little house elf trainee had appeared in a state of totally chaotic disarray- toga falling off, hair spiked up on top of his oversized head, and long nose pointed in the completely wrong direction.

"Behind you, Tolly."

Spinning around, Tolly did his best to suppress a large yawn (succeeding only in making his eyes water over). "Tolly is awake!"

"I can see that," Isla murmured dryly, "Though don't worry- you won't be for long. I just need a stiff drink and my advanced biology books."

Three false starts later- Tolly, it seemed, had a hard time navigating the library when freshly awoken from a particularly wonderful dream about cleaning stained glass windows- and Isla was leaning over her unwanted hostage's prone form with a glass of brandy in one hand and her wand in the other.

"Master is asking Tolly if Mistress is coming back to bed yet," the little elf yawned widely once more, tugging his overly large ears in front of his face to hide it, and Isla rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

"He'll be fine. Back to bed with you, Tolly, and not a peep from anyone unless the house is burning down, is that clear?"

Very much doubtful of such occasion occurring (and thus assured his sleep would be uninterrupted for the remainder of the night- or morning, as it was), the little elf nodded agreeably and disappeared with a quick _snap_! of his fingers.

It took Isla over an hour to work out a way to wake Dumbledore up without accidentally a) exploding him or b) exploding the whole household. (She'd considered taking option A more than once in a bout of frustration, but practicality overruled murderous intent.)

It would have taken her much longer to try to remove the particularly dark bit of magic circling in his chest but, upon reflection, it was best left where it was. Family magic was a strange, oddly self-aware thing. If it wanted to single out some particular part of Albus Dumbledore's true self, Isla wasn't going to interfere (much).

Isla's original plan had been to deposit the meddling Headmaster into his little brother's less than tender care at the Hog's Head (everyone who was anyone had heard about the Dumbledores' last very public row). She'd worked out a positively scathing (and perfectly formal) invitation to tea the following weekend to leave in his pocket, and she'd even written a lovely note to Aberforth requesting he give his big brother hell in exchange for a healthy donation to his goat sanctuary.

But then the first Patronus arrived.

And Isla had known that unusually panicked Scottish burr immediately.

Blood boiling at the idea of a child the same age as her own grandson being "not ok" by the strict Transfiguration prodigy's standards, Isla found herself sitting by the fire, ankles crossed and hands folded as she waited to see if another message would follow when Dumbledore did not (could not) respond.

She didn't have to wait long.

" _Albus, you are needed at once at 4 Privet Drive. There has been a terrible mistake, and it must be remedied at once."_

One long finger tap-tap-tapping against the chair's armrest, Isla's eyes sharpened on Dumbledore's prone form. "Terrible mistake? What exactly _have_ you been up to, old man?"

By the time the third feline Patronus had bounded across the rug, several things were abundantly clear in Isla's mind.

1\. If Minerva had investigated Harry Potter's whereabouts, then Filius had almost certainly taken Isla's carefully laid bait.

2\. Dumbledore had left Hogwarts unattended- and an entire mob could (and would, if Isla had anything to say about it) attest to it.

3\. Whatever dark intent Dumbledore had possessed when he'd attempted to interfere with the Black family tree, it almost certainly involved Harry Potter.

" _Albus! Where on earth are you? I need you to be here immediately or- where are you?"_

Isla frowned consideringly as the silvery cat hissed once in her direction before dissipating. "Where isn't the question- I'm more interested in _why_. But I suppose we'll know that soon enough. Still…"

A sharp, dangerous smile slid slowly over her face as she looked down on Hogwarts' missing Headmaster. The invitation to tea and the goat donation caught fire in her hand, and Isla blew the leftover soot out of her palm with pursed blood red lips.

"They'll be headed straight to Hogwarts, and little good it would do me for them to find you there with a clever excuse for your absence and some ridiculous logic for why the Potter child must remain where you want him." In the dim firelight, Isla's teeth were sharp and her eyes positively feral. "Plan B it is then."

* * *

_December 12, 1981_

_Knockturn Alley_

_Early morning hours_

Isla Calderon carefully adjusted her long gloves, inspecting them closely for any pulls in the delicate black lace. Her nose wrinkled as she discovered a single broken stitch on her palm.

"I'll have to add this to your list of sins for the evening old man," she murmured conversationally. "And it does seem you've quite the list."

Hovering just above the ground, eyes shut and mouth gaping open, Albus Dumbledore remained silent.

Isla's hand reached out and rapped the rickety pink wooden door before her three times sharply, paused, and then repeated. Immediately, a Peeping Eye opened.

A horizontal crack in the door distorted, shaping itself into a pair of particularly puckered lips. "Welcome to the Crowing Cock," it wheezed in a hoarse falsetto, "What services are you looking for this evening?"

"A bed for the night for a dear friend is all," Isla murmured, her face hidden behind a thickly woven veil as she levitated Albus higher in the air for the eye's benefit.

"Just a bed, you say? And how long is he to be kept in it?"

"Oh, I'd say that ten am would do nicely- I'll even splurge on the basic breakfast when he wakes up."

The door looked, if a door could be said to look, shrewdly towards Albus's form. "Four galleons."

"How about three, and he takes an extra well loved mattress?"

"Three galleons, two sickles if you want breakfast."

Sighing, Isla reached one gloved hand into a coin purse and extracted the desired amount. She held each coin up to the door's mouth and it consumed them greedily. "I trust that the normal privacy clauses will stand?"

"The Crowing Cock has yet to find a dissatisfied customer alive," the door said smugly, and with a little burp, swung slowly open. "We'll be taking him on in, now."

Isla relaxed as she felt Dumbledore's weight release from her own levitation spell, watching as he drifted inside.

The door slammed tightly shut and closed its eye. "Pleasure doing business, Mistress."

Isla waved one hand dismissively through the air, already turning on her heel. "I assure you- this pleasure is all mine."

* * *

_December 12, 1981_

_Middle of nowhere_

_Early morning hours_

Locked deep in the cellar of an abandoned old farmhouse, the wolf sunk his teeth into his front paw and howled.

_So alone. No pack. All alone._

Blinded by the moon's influence, he barely remembered the pain of the last several days- blowing his cover when news of Voldemort's demise finally reached the packs, fighting endlessly to leave, struggling to find news (any news at all) about what was happening in the wizarding world.

What had happened to the others.

_No pack. All alone._

Remus Lupin threw back his head and howled, then resumed his attempts to tear the whole house down.


	29. Forward

_December 13, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

The wards were ringing.

Cassiopeia Black had just (barely) survived the longest day of her life, had not fallen into bed till half past three, and had ordered her house elf to send any would-be visitors away.

But the wards were _still_ ringing.

As the warning progressed from a gentle chime to a full spine tingle, Cassiopeia yanked the pillows over her head and burrowed down further under the blankets. "Pip!"

The little elf appeared with a sharp _snap_! and a strained, "Yes, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"Is there a particular reason you've chosen to leave someone in the floo?" Cassiopeia demanded, a single accusatory eye peeking out between the blankets.

_"Yes,_ Missy Cassiopeia."

"Then why on earth-,"

"Missy Cassiopeia is giving Pip _conflicting orders_ again!" Pip interrupted shrilly, wringing her overly large ears agitatedly. "Pip is to be letting in visitors who are having appointments! Pip is not to be letting in any would-be visitors today! Pip cannot let in _or_ blow up whoever is in the floo because of Missy's wording choices."

Groaning, Cassiopeia emerged from under the covers to shoot her house elf a perplexed look. "Morganna, Pip, why didn't you say so sooner? Also- you were going to blow up uninvited guests? That doesn't feel particularly helpful for our current PR campaign."

One of Pip's wide eyes twitched. "Missy Cassiopeia is saying Pip is _also_ not to awaken her."

"Oh."

"Pip's mistress is not old enough to be going senile," Pip muttered irritably under her breath, then, louder, "What is Missy Cassiopeia wanting Pip to do with the visitor in the floo? Explosions or entrance?"

"And you're quite sure I have an appointment?" Cassiopeia asked, squinting her eyes and flinching as the ward warnings continued to cause the unpleasant sensation of water dripping down her spine.

Pip snapped, and a day book appeared in hand. Holding it open to the current date: "Yes, Missy Cassiopeia, you were agreeing to tea just yesterday."

"Ah, well, I hardly think that what I say in a time of duress is-,"

"Goodness, darling, don't you know it's rude to make someone wait in your floo? I was starting to think the powder would wear out before you opened the connection." Isla Calderon stepped genteelly from the flames, delicately wiping the last of Cassiopeia's ward magic off her palms with a kerchief. "Also, your wards leave much to be desired. Not a single bone breaking curse among them."

"Oh, Isla, it's you- I thought for a moment I'd accidentally agreed to a real guest. Pip, you should have said it was Isla," Cassiopeia admonished. "Tea and biscuits at once, if you please, and I refuse to get out of bed so you may as well serve it right here."

Pip sighed heavily from the center of the room, eye twitching towards the golden motifs on the ceiling, before disappearing to the kitchen with another sharp _crack!_

"If you're heartily opposed to a bone breaking curse on account of the noise, there's several others I could recommend instead."

Cassiopeia waved her wand, non-verbally summoning an overstuffed chair and empty marble side table from their positions near the windows. "I do recall you saying it'd be entirely too much trouble to blast out of my fireplace as you'd have to rebuild the wards."

"Ah, well- a woman's prerogative, as my father used to say, is to change her mind."

"Terribly outdated, isn't it? Would you like me to pretend that you didn't have an ulterior motive in dismantling my wards, or are we going to be straight forward? Frankly, I've not much energy for subtlety today."

Isla raised a single brow as she carefully crossed one ankle behind the other. "Darling, you hardly excel at subtlety even when you do have the energy for it."

"So I'm told," Cassiopeia murmured wryly as Pip reappeared with her fourth favorite tea service (purple and white petunias, always a sure sign of the little elf's irritation) and a large pile of-

"Pip, what on earth are these?"

"They is being a new kind of biscuit, Missy Cassiopeia."

"Are they meant to be so…. Green?"

"Missy Cassiopeia was eating one hundred and eleven regular biscuits yesterday- so today, her biscuits is including vegetables. It is being for her own good."

Isla promptly burst into a coughing fit that sounded surprisingly similar to what a less well-bred lady may have called uncontrollable, snorting laughter.

"So just to be clear- these aren't even biscuits." Cassiopeia shot a vexed look at her oldest friend before turning her bemused gaze back to her house elf. "Not even basic digestives?"

"No, they are being biscuits. They is biscuits with veggies in them." Pip picked one such offensively lime green square off the plate. "Missy Cassiopeia will see when she tries them."

Unconvinced, mistress and house elf stared at one another in a silent battle of wills till Cassiopeia finally sighed and accepted the biscuit. She slowly, carefully bit into the surprisingly soft cookie and….

"If one can look past the kale and carrots flavor, I suppose it's almost edible." Cassiopeia used her teeth to take another impossibly small bite of the irredeemably awful biscuit. "That'll be all then, Pip."

Pip beamed victoriously- an expression so uncommon on a house elf's features that Isla found herself overcome by yet another coughing fit- and disappeared.

"Would you like to try-,"

"Not on your life, darling."

Cassiopeia gave a much put upon sigh and set about banishing each individual cookie. "I absolutely abhor Pip's health kicks- if I didn't know she knew more about deadly botany than most well educated wizarding stock, I'd assume she was trying to poison me."

"Speaking of poisoning you- I'd like a ward up to prevent that too." Isla took her teacup with her, rising to inspect the fireplace. "Wards for mail, wards to destroy any tracking devices, anti-curse wards, Santa repelling wards… all of the basics, of course, and then I'll pile them on from there."

"Isla dear, do you ever plan to explain exactly why you've suddenly decided I need a new security system? This might surprise you, but you're the only one I know of who was capable of breaking in."

"Tosh, darling, they were hardly _that_ well done," the smug smile that slid across Isla's face suggested otherwise, "But you'll have to pardon my slight evasion- I find myself trying to think ten steps ahead today."

"Oh, only ten?" Cassiopeia murmured dryly.

"Eat a veggie biscuit. I do believe it's time to play politics."

"Play politics?"

Isla nodded firmly.

"Weren't we already- Isla, I am hardly awake enough for this. I thought you'd agreed to be straight forward, just for the day? What on earth are you about?"

Heaving a dramatic sigh, Isla settled back down onto the edge of her seat and set about explaining what had occurred after she left Black Manor with Dumbledore over three new cups of tea.

Cassiopeia listened seriously, refilling both their cups with increasingly large quantities of cream and sugar (and tea, as needed) but otherwise remaining thoughtfully silent till the end. Finally, "So the game with Dumbledore begins in earnest."

"In earnest? I was under the impression that he cared not what we did so long as it didn't interrupt his increasingly creepy plans for your great nephew." Isla frowned into her tea for a brief moment before her eyes lit with understanding. "Sirius Black's trial."

"He was first in line for guardianship, you'll remember." Cassiopeia murmured, hand ghosting towards the now-empty biscuit plate before falling, empty, back into her lap. "Dumbledore is oddly intent on keeping that lad imprisoned for as long as possible."

"How so?"

"Per our original plan, I called a full family council immediately following the funeral last night to publicly name Marius' granddaughter my heir. There's really no better way to prepare a crowd to receive news positively than to get them on a magic high- and Orion was particularly powerful. The whole of our family magic just swelled up and-,"

"While you know I find old family magic practices fascinating- The original topic, Cassiopeia?"

"Ah, right, yes. Dumbledore. Anyways, after I'd announced Hermione at the council- and do remind me to circle back around to the family's reactions at some point- I led a brief-" (it had not been brief) "-conversation about the Blacks' next steps. The main three being, in no particular order of importance at this time, removing Harry Potter from Dumbledore's care, determining what effect Sirius Black should _actually_ be having on our reputation, and showing off our outcasts."

Isla sighed softly. "I'm positive there were better ways to word all three of those objectives."

Undeterred, Cassiopeia went on: "There was a bit of discussion regarding Sirius in particular- the core family, at least, did witness Walburga's truthful statements that she didn't believe him capable of it. I expected Alphard to champion the cause, but surprisingly Lucius Malfoy stepped in and stated that if Sirius _did_ betray the Potters, it would be better to know immediately, or, if someone _else_ framed him, the family needs to know that at once too."

"Surprisingly?"

"Surprisingly for a former Death Eater," Cassiopeia clarified. "Which reminds me, I'll need a more effective leash for him than my great niece's presence, eventually."

"I'd counter that it is not surprising for a former Death Eater, though I agree on the leash- his son, perhaps? You forget, darling- the Death Eaters are desperate to know who 'betrayed' their Lord. If not Sirius Black, then who?"

"I was thinking of a Ministry position- it would be natural, he seems to spend his days there already. And besides, it's already netted us one valuable piece of information which he shared of his own accord."

Isla's eyebrows shot up. "Oh?"

"When Amelia Bones realized that Sirius had not only been denied trial but also been illegally arrested, she set in motion plans to move him to house arrest from Azkaban. It cuts the Ministry's payout down if he is found innocent and then sues for wrongful imprisonment or endangerment or something. However, her request has been processed and rejected four times."

"By the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot himself, I assume?"

A single curt nod. "Precisely."

"On what grounds?"

"We'll know soon enough- I had Pip send Amelia an owl as soon as I got the Grangers safely home."

Running one long finger around the rim of her teacup repeatedly, Isla's eyes narrowed speculatively as she turned these new facts over in her mind.

The conniving duo sat in companionable silence for several long moments, basking in the heat from the fire and their tea before, finally: "You know who found the child, yes?"

Isla hummed in agreement.

"Do you think they'd have removed him from the blood wards he was in?"

"Would it help if they had?"

"Oh, certainly," Cassiopeia held a hand to her chest, and a tiny blue ball of light appeared in her palm. "Before, my connection to him jumped around the world- if he's not behind blood wards anymore, though…. He could be ours in minutes."

"Minerva said, quite clearly, that he was not okay. I found it disturbing," Isla admitted, eyeing the blue orb speculatively. "But I think it would be a long term mistake to steal him away now."

"Even with Dumbledore-,"

"Oh, trust me- Dumbledore will have bigger fish to fry. Abandoning his post, crashing a funeral, publicly agreeing to talks with the Blacks, and being photographed walking out of Britain's oldest place of work this afternoon?"

Cassiopeia couldn't quite help the grin that spread across her face. "Inspired, truly inspired my dear."

"Harry Potter will be in your custody and care soon- but first, let the old man play his hand. Show us what he's really after at the cost of, well, if he isn't careful..." Isla's teeth were sharp behind her lips.

"If he isn't careful, it'll be at the cost of everything," Cassiopeia smiled dreamily, her stormy eyes sparking with purple magic as she pulled the little ball of magic back into her chest.

* * *

_December 13, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

Helen Granger slumped down into the tub, sneezing as the bath bubbles went up her nose. "I've changed my mind. Magic is awful."

"Still sore, I take it?"

"Sore? I was _sore_ after I _gave birth_ Daniel- being blasted with your dead cousin's magic is not comparable to _sore!_ "

Perched on the edge of the tub, her husband paled. "When you put it like that…"

"Your dead cousin's magic," Helen repeated irritably, "Your _dead_ cousin's _magic_!"

"Love-,"

"Don't you love me right now, Daniel Granger! I'm buggered, and I intend to stay that way till the water's gone cold and I've finished my tea."

Frowning seriously, Daniel dropped to his knees by the tub and pressed his face closer to his wife's. "Not loving you isn't ever an option, Hel. How couldn't I love you, when you're the most splendid person I've ever met?"

A bit of her bluster disappearing, Helen cracked a tiny half smile and relaxed further into the bubbles, careful to keep her tea cup over the water. "Well, I'm still going to be buggered and sore till I finish my tea and run more hot water."

Daniel nodded agreeably. "You stay buggered love- and I'll work on making it up to you, how's that?"

"Will making it up to me involve chocolate dipped strawberries, by chance?"

Laughing, Daniel shot a parting grin over his shoulder as he gently tugged the bathroom door shut behind him. "That can definitely be a part of it!"

* * *

_December 13, 1981_

_Ferncroft Avenue, Hampstead_

"I counted six."

Marius propped himself up on one elbow to look down at his wife from the couch. "Pardon?"

Agnes, sprawled across the under the Christmas tree with a half empty bottle of wine in one hand and a glass in the other, nodded certainly. "Yes, definitely six. Six solid punches right across that ridiculous cousin of yours' face."

Marius's eyebrow rose and his lips quirked. "Didn't you make me go to therapy to avoid anger issues because of my family and whatnot?"

An airy hand waved away the clearly forgotten concern. "Tosh- I found it therapeutic just watching that particular bit of savagery. Not to mention…."

Agnes grinned at her husband, beckoning him one hand down to the floor. "Nothing more attractive than my man fresh from winning a fight."

"Ok, I'm stopping you right there- honestly mother, you sound like Tricia." Daniel swept into the room with Hermione on his arm, a hand clasped over his daughter's eyes and his own eyes tightly shut.

"And I thought our daughter was the drama queen," Agnes muttered, only for Marius to poke her in the side with his toe.

"What brings you over, my boy?"

Plopping Hermione on the ground so that she could begin her newest favorite activity (wreaking havoc on the Christmas tree) in earnest, Daniel dropped into the amoebe chair nearest the fire and draped one leg over the opposite knee. "Helen's feeling miserable, so I thought we'd give her some extra peace and quiet."

"And distance, I assume."

"Well yes, obviously that too Mum."

Agnes sighed and shot her husband a particularly pointed look. "I can't say I blame her if she's a bit peeved- Cassiopeia didn't warn us about the magical backlash."

"Cass wasn't expecting it to be any different for Helen, with Daniel as a buffer and us all on the family tree- but I don't think she knows what magic feels like to someone who has none. I probably should have said something based on my own experiences, so I'll take the blame for that. Did you give Helen-,"

"Three ibuprofen. Hermione, do not eat the lights please. And don't yank on them near the plugin, mummy will murder me if you electrocute yourself."

"Murder! Murder! Grrrrrr," Hermione growled ferociously towards her chuckling grandmother before being pulled onto the older woman's lap.

"No murdering in the house if you please," Agnes said firmly, bopping the toddler on her tiny snubbed nose before releasing her to continue tormenting the tree.

"I've an idea for making it up to Helen," Daniel offered tentatively. "See, she was awfully put out by that Zabini woman's gross assumptions about muggles, and we both want to make sure that Hermione exposes her little friends to our world as much as she's exposed to theirs. The Hampstead Christmas Fair is going on right now, and they've started nightly showings of The Nutcracker, so if we could organize it properly…."

"It's a splendid idea," Marius nodded, "I can reach out to Isla and make arrangements for you at once. In fact, if we plan for-,"

"You're forgetting the Malfoy boy."

Daniel and Marius turned to stare at Agnes as she refilled her wine glass calmly.

"The Malfoy boy?"

"Yes, the Malfoy boy- he's supposed to go along on their next outing, per Cassiopeia's agreement with the Malfoy's."

"He seemed awfully… spoilt." Daniel murmured, glancing at his own (also spoilt, though arguably better so) child under the tree.

"He's a Malfoy," Marius said dryly, "It's to be expected. But, we did agree to give it a chance, at least. The Malfoy's make for very powerful enemies and only vexing allies- they have a _lot_ of money. And even more French cousins."

"Are we worried about the French again? Goodness, and here I thought we'd moved on past 1815." Agnes snorted. "Don't worry, darling, mum will take care of it."

"You mean you're going to call the house elf and make it her problem?"

Agnes shrugged delicately as her son and husband struggled to hide their mirth. "We all excel at something- personally, I excel at giving orders. For example: boys, go find us pudding."

"Pudding!"


	30. Kitty

_December 13, 1981_

_Invermoriston, Scotland_

Minerva McGonagall sighed as she stared at the tall white walls of the old parsonage before her. "This is an absolutely _awful_ idea."

Beside her, fellow Hogwarts Professor and current kidnapping companion Filius Flitwick shrugged helplessly. "I hate to point fingers, but I must remind you that you're the one who suggested it."

Minerva shot him a stern Look over the curly head of the toddler in her arms. Then, with a final resigned sigh, she strode forward to knock on the door.

After a long, tense moment, the heavy front door swung open and revealed an elderly woman in a cream silk blouse and-

"Mam! Are you wearing…. Pants?"

Isobel McGonagall, whose sharp features reflected Minerva's own, looked down at her tailored brown plaid checked trousers. "Ye sister-in-law assures me that it is all very socially acceptable these days."

"Mam!"

"Minerva, is the bairn _yours_?" Isobel peered closely from Minerva, to the much shorter Filius, to Harry. "You've nae been merrit again since your last visit, hae ye?"

Groaning, Minerva pushed past her mother and into the cheery front room (closely followed by a positively red Filius, who was struggling not to actually choke on his laughter). "Mam, I've nae- not- been re-married, and I've not had any children either. Really, I was here last month, when would I have had time to raise a two year old? This wee one is Harry Potter."

"Bloody hell!" Isobel, already wide eyed with surprise (whether because of her daughter's unexpected visit or the possibility of a secret re-marriage one couldn't tell), dropped her jaw somewhere near the floor. "Shut your geggie, he canna be."

"Da is rolling in his grave," Minerva muttered irritably. "Yes, Mam, this is the one and only Harry Potter."

Frowning heavily, Isobel inspected the child before her. Too thin, and were those leftover bruises or dirt? "Best be sitting down then- you'll be telling me the whole story."

"Mam, keep the heid!"

Isobel glanced from her oldest child to the toddler in her lap and gritted her teeth against the barrage of anger threatening to pour out. Keep the heid, indeed- the child had been oddly silent and listless throughout the conversation, but if Minerva's story were true, harsh words would only hurt him more.

"The issue at hand, Mrs. McGonagall, is that we cannot keep the boy in the castle with us- with Dumbledore missing, Minerva's forced to accept additional administrative responsibilities, and based on yesterday's events neither of us want to relinquish Harry back to his care prior to a very long discussion." Filius smiled apologetically, leaning forward in his seat so his feet almost touched the floor.

Isobel, regretfully: "I've nae enough energy these days to run after a toddler all day anymore."

"Won't be an issue Mam- you're going to have help, if you'll agree."

Minerva passed Harry to Filius and reached down to the ground, opening the carpet bag she had sat at her feet. Carefully reaching inside (her arm disappearing up to her shoulder), she pulled out an extremely fat grey cat by the scruff of his neck.

No, not a cat, Isobel realized- a kneazle.

"I didnae realize kneazles were babysitters now."

"Well, a nanny dog might have been preferable, but Pillowtop here was a bit more readily available." Filius jumped in quickly. "You've no aversion to cats, do you?"

With a wry glance towards her daughter, Isobel snorted. "Perfectly accustomed to them."

"Pillowtop is particularly bright, and he was trained to chase after children- he's had three of them before now. Additional benefit, Harry already-," Filius did not have to finish his explanation, for the small boy had finally come to life in his arms and was staring at the plus sized kneazle with fierce awe.

The kneazle, after shooting Minerva an affronted look (presumably at the distasteful method of travel he had been subjected to), turned towards Harry and began to purr.

"Kitty!"

Moved more by that scratchy little voice than anything else, Isobel felt herself melting. Magic could help her get by (she'd gotten a new wand after her husband's death, and while the magic didn't come as easily as it once had, she was at least well practiced in household charms). "I'll watch the bairn for as long as you need."

* * *

_December 13, 1981_

_Knockturn Alley, London_

It was not _luck_ that had Rita Skeeter flying through Knockturn Alley in the form of a bottle blue beetle at noon the day after the Black family funeral, nor was it any particular reporting instinct or skill. Instead, she was guided by an 'anonymous' message.

As if Rita hadn't memorized the family owls of the families she worked with most frequently.

No, it was neither luck nor skill nor instinct driving Rita's haphazard flight- it was Isla Calderon.

Landing on the swing metal rooster above an otherwise unmarked door, Rita had to wonder: who of interest would possibly be leaving the Crowing Cock in broad daylight?

The Minster, perhaps- that would certainly be a field day. But the Calderon's were quiet Bagnold supporters, so not likely. Rita pursed her tiny little beetle lips thoughtfully, multiple legs itching for a drink. Everyone knew how Isla Calderon felt about the Bulstrodes- had she finally caught one with their pants around their ankles, so to speak?

Lucius Malfoy was out- no one would step out on one of the notorious Black sisters, particularly Narcissa. Nott? Not likely- his wife was some poor young thing, he had no need for-

Well. Whoever it was, it had better be _good._ One of Rita's more discreet friends (read: undercover spies) had reported trouble at Hogwarts the night before with one Albus Dumbledore nowhere to be found, and another of her less discreet friends (read: actual, nosy friend) had written her immediately after seeing the same Albus Dumbledore attempting to crash the Black family funeral at nearly the exact same time.

And according to both sources, there were whispers of a name almost more popular than the Queen's- _Harry Potter_.

Suddenly, the Crowing Cock's door's single eye blinked open. "Thank you for your visit, we'll be seeing you again," a croaky voice called from deep within the shadowed recesses of the building as the door slowly opened and a rather wrinkled old wizard stepped out.

Rita fell off the sign.

Catching herself just before she hit the ground, the dedicated reporter's ink eyes boggled at the ancient wizard carefully dusting himself off in front of her.

"I dare say you won't be, but I'll thank you for the room and breakfast all the same. As far as hotels go, I've certainly encountered none more unique." Albus Dumbledore's eyes, as recognizable for their twinkle as for their bright light shade of blue, bore into the door's own.

An earthy chuckle emerged from within, abruptly breaking off as the door shut with a solid thud.

"Quite the adventure, isn't it?" Dumbledore murmured, "Though I do appreciate they've left me my wand- at what cost, we'll soon see I'm sure."

Rita watched as the most titled wizard (or witch) in all of Europe performed an oddly detailed inspection of his wand, nodding carefully over each notch in the grain. Finally convinced of its validity, he slid it back into a forearm holster and stepped further into Knockturn Alley before disapparating nearly soundlessly.

Back up on the metal rooster, Rita's mind was spinning rapidly as she tried to connect the dots between the various things she'd learned in the past several hours. Albus Dumbledore was a bit sketchy- she knew that first hand. No man with that much power could have as squeaky clean a past as his grandfatherly eye twinkle and calm seemed to insinuate. But for the first time Rita was forced to really wonder: what exactly was Albus Dumbledore up to?

* * *

_December 13, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

Back in the safety of his own office, Albus hummed to himself as he carefully extracted a silver wisp of memory from his mind and directed it towards his pensieve. "Honestly, Fawkes, I'm quite curious what went so incredibly wrong that even you couldn't get me home."

The Phoenix gave him a brief, censuring look and turned back to preening his tail feathers.

"I do believe that we are witnessing the rise of a very dangerous new opposition to the Greater Good- any insight you have on the matter?"

This time, the Phoenix ignored him completely and Dumbledore released a long, deeply bereaved sigh. "I did say you were right, didn't I? I was entirely full of myself. Are you going to-,"

"Albus!"

Oh, dear.

"ALBUS!"

He knew that angry Scottish voice- and wasn't it supposed to still be in London?

"Albus! I know you are up there!"

Minerva McGonagall was on a warpath- and he was right in her way. Quickly closing the cabinet doors and locking the Pensieve away, Albus plastered on his most cheerful smile and waved his wand to unlock his office door.

"Albus! Where have you _been_?" The fuming Transfiguration mistress stormed into the room like a one-woman battalion, robes whipping around her and lips pressed into one of the thinnest lines Dumbledore had ever seen (and he'd been present when Sirius Black and James Potter had laced her tea with catnip).

"Why, Minerva!" Albus said, schooling his features into a gently surprised mask, "I thought you were due to be at the conference till tomorrow!"

"I _was indeed_ scheduled to be in London, but _someone_ must mind the school! And apparently, someone has to mind you!"

"Why, I've been right-,"

"Don't you lie to me, Albus Dumbledore- I came looking for you after you ignored my three messages last night, I did, and you were not on the property. Hogwarts' ward stones and the elves could confirm it!"

"-right _busy_ , with a quick last minute emergency trip I had to handle for the- three messages, Minerva?"

Scowling down her nose, Minerva threw her arms in the air in disgust. "As if you don't know! The three messages where I demanded you come and see what was happening to Harry Potter first hand. Not enough to just neglect the school, was it?"

Albus's smile faltered as he became unnaturally still. "Harry Potter?"

"Yes, Albus! Harry Potter! The boy I _personally told you_ would not be ok with that horrid group of muggles? Who you _insisted_ would be better off with close family?"

_Not exactly true- but the entire wizarding world would be better off with Harry Potter raised by close family._ Resisting the urge to tug at his beard hair in frustration: "Minerva, what have you done?"

"Only what you ought have done yourself, Albus, if you'd responded to me last night," Minerva snapped, and Albus felt her throw her Occlumency shields up and into place as she met his eyes with a hawk-like stare.

"Where is the child now? Minerva, for his own safety-,"

"Safe, Albus. Harry Potter is, for the first time since his parents were stolen from him, safe. And I will personally shred your desk chair to pieces if you try to send him back!"

"But Minerva-"

"I expect you to have _real_ options- none of which should involve those awful muggles!- for that child to me by _tomorrow_. To be abundantly clear, I'd demand answers right this moment, but _some_ of us have a school to run and are actually _dealing_ with Miss Delliopod's unfortunate choice to be eaten by a Hellscape Pea Pod 'for fun'."

"Merlin me, Miss Delliopod _allowed_ a Hellscape Pea Pod to-?"

"As you'd very well know if you had been right here for longer than fifteen minutes." Minerva paused, shaking her head disapprovingly as if Albus were one of her misbehaving Gryffindors rather than a senior ranking faculty member. "Fix this Albus."

Watching her storm back down the stairs, Albus was suddenly exhausted. "I could use a nap," he murmured to Fawkes, and, to his relief, the phoenix hopped over to plop his small plumed head on Albus's shoulder. "Honestly, we've a long road and a great deal of work ahead of us, Fawkes. We may have been caught off guard once, but it won't happen again."

Of course, when Albus woke from his nap and discovered a particularly disgusting hairball on his office chair, he was forced to concede that it had indeed happened again.


	31. Byline

**A/N:** Quick shoutout to the reviewer who sparked the idea for connecting the dots between the Lovegood and Malfoy family trees (note- this is not canon, only the Black family tree with the exception of Marius Granger's extended family is canon)! Thank you for ALL of your reviews, I so enjoy them all, and I love seeing where you think we're going next as well as your favorite parts. Posts will continue to be every Mon and Weds. Cheers!

* * *

_December 14, 1981_

_Granger Corporation, London_

Marius Granger would proudly describe himself as a dedicated businessman.

Unlike younger executives who spent hours at their local club and delegating assignments to lower level peons, Marius was the first in the office on Monday mornings and the last to leave on Friday afternoons. New employees were always a bit intimidated by his clearly extraordinary work ethic (all of those hours!) and his cut throat negotiation skills. Long-term employees were proud to report to a man who had built his empire from the ground up, and who hadn't given in to the temptation to laze around the house all day after he'd paid his dues.

(As if Agnes ever would have let him.)

Yes, Marius would definitely consider himself a dedicated businessman. But what none of his awe struck employees (except maybe Komal, because she seemed to know everything) ever realized was that Marius spending quite a lot of time in his office didn't mean that Marius was spending quite a lot of time _actually working_.

Dedicated businessman, indeed.

Monday mornings were his favorite by far. On Mondays, Marius rolled out of bed at 4:30 am and dressed quickly, putting on his best Stiff Upper Lip as Agnes sleepily complained that she was sure he could sleep in a bit longer while he dressed.

"Can't let the team think I've abandoned them- visual leadership is important." Marius would say (every single Monday), and then he'd kiss his wife's cheek and tuck the covers tightly around her before sliding out the front door.

By 5:10 am he'd be unlocking the front doors and turning on the lights at the office(a careful 5 minutes before either the maintenance team or even his most dedicated employees arrived), and by 5:11 he was turning on the coffee maker (Komal had spent four hours teaching him to work the fancy new one she'd purchased).

"Wow, Mr. Granger- I have to say, no one is quite as chipper or thoughtful on a Monday morning as you are!"

Marius smiled at Beverly, the Head of Accounting, who said the same thing every week before responding with his normal: "The credit lies in my teams' dedication, really- I would be nothing without all of you."

Beverly had managed to improve budget efficiency annually for the past 15 years in a row.

Marius credited The Monday Morning Routine.

By 6:30, Marius had typically finished four cups of tea (coffee was popular among the younger employees, but despite his daughter's best attempts he would refuse to switch till the day he died), welcomed nearly every department head in the office under the guise during his morning rounds, and crafted a long list of errands for Komal to head out for as soon as she'd caught up on the mail.

It was 8 am, when Komal had left with a laundry list of pointless tasks ranging from package pickup to quick shopping trips for presents for Agnes to dry cleaning to a class on sushi making (Marius's innocent argument was that it could come in handy at a corporate mixer someday), that Marius' favorite part of Mondays began.

Closing his office door firmly (a corporate wide symbol meaning 'do not disturb'), Marius loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes, and took a three hour nap on the green plush Play Pen couch that took up one corner of his large office.

It was delightful.

By the time he awoke, the entire office would be in full swing- shouting in the corridors, laughter from the water coolers, and a small series of explosions from the labs. It was everything that Marius had dreamed of when he'd planned for and organized and worked to grow Granger Corporation, and he generally spent at least an hour sipping yet another piping hot mug of tea and checking in on individual projects' progress.

By noon he was ready for more serious matters, and turned to the paper (particularly the sports section) to keep him occupied until Komal's return. Recently, in addition to _The Sun_ , Marius had found a new publication waiting for him: the _Daily Prophet_.

On this particular Monday, which had begun the same as any other, Marius finished reading about the death of popular American entomologist Charles P. Alexander (who had, fascinatingly enough, catalogued over ten _thousand_ insects during his career) and unrolled the _Prophet_ to reveal quite the interesting headline.

Marius paused. He re-read, then re-re-read, the headline in his head. He mouthed it silently twice more. Then, overwhelmed with mirth, Marius read it aloud: " _Hogwarts Headmaster All Fur Coat and No Knickers_?"

* * *

_December 15, 1981_

_Ministry of Magic, London_

Amelia Bones slammed Tuesday's edition of the _Daily Prophet_ down onto the solid wood table of the staff meeting room. "Who read the paper today?"

Gathered before her for an emergency meeting, the British Ministry of Magic's finest men and women in law enforcement shrank back at the deadly calm tone. All of them (even those who'd originally thought that a younger, female boss would be easy to slide around) had quickly learned to be wary of Madam Bones' infamous temper.

After all, they'd seen what had happened to Cornelius Fudge- and he wasn't even a member of their department.

"Well?" Amelia asked, the steel in her patient tone clear.

Twenty seven Aurors and Hit Wizards (all those unlucky souls who'd not been on patrol or engaged in specific missions at the time the emergency meeting was called) glanced in unison from the paper on the table, to the witch glaring out at them.

Hesitantly, 9 raised their hands.

"And of you who actually bothered to educate yourself instead of doodle over your first cuppa this morning, which of you can tell me exactly what this paper said about our department?"

Several long, concerned glances were exchanged around the table.

"Madam Bones, they never actually specifically named our department in the article." Ainslee Jones called out finally, frowning when Amelia's fiery gaze focused in on her.

"But you still know _exactly_ which article I'm talking about, don't you? Which implies that you know full well _we_ are the ones being blamed for this." Amelia waited till the other witch nodded, then reached down and picked back up the paper. "For those of you unaware, the article title alone should be enough to understand my concern: _Ministry of Magic Dallies In Sirius Black Investigation, Continues Holding Prisoner in Azkaban (Illegally?)_."

At the end of the table, Rufus Scrigemour shook his veritable mane of tufty red-orange hair and frowned. "Madam Bones, it's my team covering the Black investigation- and you know damn well that we've followed the law to the letter."

"And yet no trial date has been set, and Sirius Black is sitting in Azkaban with more power to sue us every day- and everyone here knows that lawsuits mean budget cuts that we can't afford."

"I'm not sure what else we can do." Scrigemour was uncomfortably apologetic but completely frank. "I've submitted every report known to man to get things moving- you've signed off on every one of them. This doesn't fall back on my team."

"You're right. It falls back on the person who has been slowing down and denying our requests. You're all professionals, and you've been trained in stealth and reconnaissance. By the end of today, I want to know _exactly_ what is happening in the Wizengamot, and I want a solidified plan of action presented to me that will keep us from playing martyr when this blows up."

Amelia carefully met the eye of each member of her team (a trick Bagnold had taught her when she'd first told her that she wanted her for the Department Head position). "I've said this once, and I'll say it again so we're all clear. I do not tolerate incompetence, nor do I suffer fools. This department will be held to the highest standard- things will be done correctly the first time, and there will be no self-serving or otherwise biased behaviors exhibited from any Ministry employee who reports to me. If you meet my standards and represent this department appropriately, I'll champion every battle you get drawn into. If not…."

The entire room flinched when Amelia smiled humorlessly. "Well. You all saw how that worked out for Fudge."

* * *

_December 16, 1981_

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire_

Lucius Malfoy was quite the family man.

His parents had raised him with three firm understandings. Firstly, the _only_ thing in life more important than _power_ (and money, power's close second) was family. Secondly, Malfoys were _unquestioningly loyal_ , but only to one another (and the occasional Dark Lord or Lady). Thirdly, Malfoys were _the best_ and as such they deserved _the best_.

These deeply ingrained "truths" (among other lessons learned at his father's knee) had influenced nearly all of Lucius' decisions in life. They'd been the cornerstone of his early infatuation with Narcissa Black (the prettiest and most polite of the highly sought after Black sisters). They'd been the catalyst for his devotion to the late Lord Voldemort, who had been a long-time friend of Lucius' own father. Certainly, they'd been the only reason that he hadn't murdered or refused to continue associating with his deeply loathed first cousin.

Lucius's father, Abraxas, had been the first Malfoy heir to avoid being an only child in over 300 years. Two days after he boarded the train for Hogwarts, Abraxas' mother drowned in a (blatantly suspicious) swimming accident and was quickly replaced by a younger socialite. By the time Abraxas was a third year, Valeria Malfoy had been born.

Giggly and whimsical by nature and lacking any real societal pressure (the family who'd not had a girl in over 300 years was a bit lackadaisical about finding their newest member an actual _purpose_ ), Valeria had thrived. Quirky and light hearted in a way that Abraxas himself had not been given the chance to be, he adored her. Aside from their Hogwarts years (and in spite of Abraxas' ongoing resentment of his stepmother), the Malfoy siblings were fast friends and infrequently parted.

Valeria and Abraxas were so close in their adult life that Abraxas' new young wife Cordula (herself only a year older than Valeria) found herself increasingly jealous of the siblings' comradery and their frequent but unintentional exclusion of the newest Malfoy. Though she was determined to claim her place as the most important woman in her husband's life, Cordula realized that the only way Abraxas would allow Valeria to quit Malfoy Manor was by her own choice.

Enter one Talfryn Lovegood.

Talfryn, who had been in Cordula's year but in Ravenclaw, had taken up magical research upon graduation- specially, magical research on odd, unheard of plants that most people wondered if he had dreamed up. He spent most of the year travelling the world, coming home only for the summer to check on his elderly mother and work on actual papers detailing his findings. When invited during one of these summers to tea at Malfoy Manor under the premise of receiving an investment in his next project, he was quick to accept.

By the tenth time Talfryn came to tea, it was unclear whether he was still waiting for the vaguely promised galleons or if he'd become interested in his hostess' sister-in-law, who sat in through each meeting and bantered back and forth with him regarding the merits and details of his research for hours on end.

By the fifteenth time, he'd asked for her hand.

And, when Talfryn set off that October to resume his travels, Valeria was by his side and Cordula found herself truly alone with her husband for the first time since their honeymoon.

It was not a coincidence that Lucius was born a year later, but it was a coincidence that the Lovegoods' first (and, in keeping with Malfoy tradition, only) child was born only two weeks later.

Lucius and Xenophilius had maintained a hesitant acquaintanceship at best from the day they met. While Lucius enjoyed exploding things and ordering around house elves, Xenophilius enjoyed writing about weird creatures and plants that didn't exist. While Lucius was a top-notch Slytherin, Xenophilius was quirky even by Ravenclaw standards. The only things they had in common? Both had married beautiful, powerful Slytherin witches, and both had their first children within 8 months of one another.

"Take care of Valeria and her family," Abraxas had repeated over the years, "Remember, they have Malfoy in them too."

"Take care of your Aunt Valeria and her… offspring. They're my own fault, and I'm sorry to say you'll pay the penance for it," Cordula reinforced as she watched, wide-eyed, as Xenophilius waltzed around the room one Yule in bright yellow feathers.

"We must take care of Valeria's family," Lucius explained to his small son as they walked across the wide, empty meadows surrounding The Rook, the Lovegood family's ancestral home. "Family is more important to Malfoys than anything, son. And as long as Pandora keeps a grip on my cousin, it's not quite the chore it used to be."

Draco took in this instruction with wide silver eyes (Narcissa's eyes, Lucius frequently thought with a pleased little smirk quirking around his mouth). "Family more im-port-ant," the two year old sounded out, and it was a positively proud Lucius who finally rapped on The Rook's front door with his polished cane.

"Come in, come in!" Xenophilius beamed as he swung the door open wide, his glittering periwinkle robes catching the sunlight and nearly blinding his first cousin. "And our little Draco, getting so big, aren't you?"

Lucius repressed the urge to shove his slightly younger cousin down.

"Xeno, invite them in for tea. No Narcissa today?" Pandora Lovegood may have been crazy, but she was more crazy dangerous than she was crazy weird. Her manners and cut throat politics were nearly as polished as Narcissa's (in fact, the two got along quite well), but her experiments were….

Well.

Suffice to say, they were legal only because the Ministry couldn't understand what she was working on.

"She'll be along, she was waiting behind for Dobby to come back with the cake she'd ordered to go with tea." Lucius scowled. "Bloody useless things, house elves- we feed them, and they remain wholly ungrateful."

"Feed them, beat them, and worse- really, why not consider-,"

"Not that old ridiculous argument, Xenophilius." Lucius brushed past his cousin to set Draco down on the floor near the bassinet that the small Lovegood spawn was sleeping in, giving him a warning glance to Not Touch Anything. "How about something actually interesting, for a change?"

Offended, but as determined to be polite as he'd been since Lucius first insulted him at age 2, Xenophilius quirked his head and waited for Lucius to match his gaze. The pair had nearly identical aristocratic features and long blonde hair, though Xenophilius' hung clean and free while Lucius' was gelled and tied back with a ribbon which matched his robes in color and material.

"Something interesting, eh? How about the publishing business then- did you see what that trash rag printed today?"

Lucius sighed. "If you mean the _Prophet_ , I'm hardly sure how you could find it a trash rag compared to your own… Gibbler, was it?"

"The Quibbler is-"

Pandora cut her husband off gently, sending Lucius a warning glance. "You've no need to defend the Quibbler, love, the profit it makes speaks for itself. Lucius, I'm surprised _you of all people_ aren't more excited about today's paper."

"No time to look at it," Lucius said, irked to be called out like a child who'd forgotten to do their homework. "I maintain a busy weekday calendar, you know."

Wordlessly, Pandora summoned the day's issue of the Daily Prophet from the trash bin and floated it to hover in front of Lucius' nose.

At first disgusted, he cringed away from the offensive article of trash, smeared liberally with what appeared to be grape jelly. It was only on second glance he saw the title of the publication's front page article: _Department of Magical Law Enforcement Files Complaint Against Supreme Mugwump for Unethical Behavior._

Shocked, Lucius was torn between delight and concern for the author- after all, very few had gone toe to toe in the media with Albus Dumbledore willingly. The byline had been left in large print, however: Rita Skeeter wasn't worried. She was just sniffing about for blood.

"Well then, cousin- it seems we've found something interesting to talk about after all."


	32. Supreme Leader Pip

**A/N:** We are officially all caught up with fanfiction.net, so the massive posting spree has come to an end-- please expect updates on Mondays and Wednesdays weekly going forward. Cheers everyone, have a great weekend!

* * *

_December 17, 1981_

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshirer_

_Morning_

Pip glanced around Malfoy Manor's outdated kitchens with a wrinkled nose and grimace. Gaze finally landing on the hunched and quivering house elf near the fireplace, she sighed loudly. "Pip is wondering if you is a homeless elf or if you is just having no manners."

The Malfoy family elf, who looked put through the ringer at best, blinked in surprise. "Dobby is… Dobby is confused?"

With a particularly disgusted glance at the line of near-archaic stoves along the wall, Pip huffed. "Dobby is _clearly_ confused if he is not ordering his masters to fix this kitchen!"

"Who _are_ you?"

"Pip is being Madam Cassiopeia Black's elf."

Still at a loss, Dobby tugged both bat-like ears at once and continued eyeing the uninvited invader warily. "How is Pip getting into Malfoy Manor?"

Waving one hand airily, Pip snapped her long fingers and a piece of parchment and a self-inking quill appeared in the air before her. Murmuring to herself, the Black elf began taking rapid notes.

"What is Pip doing?" Dobby asked uncertainly after several minutes of watching Pip poke at different kitchen gadgets, each time shaking her head with an air of deeply saddened disappointment that wouldn't be out of place at a (standard) funeral (but which would certainly be out of place at a Black family funeral).

Pausing, Pip glanced at the pathetic creature sharply. "First, Pip is making a list of everything Dobby must be telling his masters to update in this kitchen. The Malfoys are to be hosting events for Missy Cassiopeia, and they isn't going to be embarrassing her with inferior food! Then, Pip is going to be delivering an invitation to the small Malfoy for this weekend."

Rather stuck on the first part of Pip's list, Dobby quailed. "Pip is wanting Dobby to tell his masters what to do?"

"Of course!"

"Dobby is going to have to punish himself most severely if Dobby is doing that."

Pip's eyebrows shot toward the ceiling. "Dobby is punishing himself for doing his job?"

"Dobby's master says Dobby is inferior and mindless and he won't listen to a worm like Dobby."

If Pip had been surprised by the state of the kitchen, she was positively shocked by this proclamation. As a born and bred Black family elf, Pip had some very particular thoughts and opinions about a single elf's place in the family- a self-respecting house elf's first and most important job was to keep a their incompetent wizarding master or mistress from embarrassing themselves in any matters regarding home and hearth. As a particularly non self-respecting house elf, Pip also firmly believed that ignoring (or insulting!) one's own house elf was positively gauche.

_And these were the people representing her Mistress in public?!_

Pip snapped her fingers, and two tiny stools appeared side by side in front of the fire. "Dobby is going to sit down. Pip is going to be Dobby's Supreme Leader now."

"Dobby's…. what?"

* * *

_December 17, 1981_

_Malfoy Manor, Wiltshirer_

_Evening_

Shortly after their son was born, Lucius and Narcissa developed a very specific evening routine based on the advice of Lucius' late mother. It was fairly simple: dinner together, then Lucius would kiss his wife and son goodbye and go to serve the Dark Lord while Narcissa oversaw the tedious details of bath and bedtime. It had been the perfect arrangement, ending with Lucius coming home to a glass of brandy on his bedside table and Narcissa reading in bed waiting for him.

The end of the war had been a shock for them both.

With nowhere to go in the evening, Lucius had found himself responsible for more of Draco's evening care. Narcissa had found herself vexed by her husband stepping on her toes. And both had realized that spending all day _and_ all night together was getting to be a strain on their relationship.

Within a matter of weeks, Narcissa had smiled vaguely over pudding and explained to her equal parts relieved and terrified husband that he either needed to find something to occupy him after dinner or find another bedroom to sleep in.

He'd tried inviting over his minions- friends- Crabbe and Goyle for post dinner drinks, but they were tedious in large daily doses (one can only stand to complain about the lack of violence in one's life for so long). He tried stealing Thaddeus Nott away from his young wife for chess, but she was apparently quite sickly following the birth of his own heir Theodore and Thaddeus was highly reluctant to leave her alone in the care of house elves. It was with an air of desperation that Lucius Malfoy took up the one thing his father had forbidden him from when growing up: a hobby.

Now, Lucius kissed Draco goodnight and his wife just because he could after dinner, then disappeared to his study for several hours to indulge in his newly found passion for scale model replicas.

So far, he'd completed only half of a scale model replica of Malfoy Manor in the summer and had planned out a series of details for the project including tiny orchestrated dancing peacocks and a fully blooming garden that cycled through hundreds of colors. Lucius was quite certain that Narcissa would want it prominently displayed in the Manor when complete.

Lucius typically indulged in a cigar and a glass (or three) of brandy as he worked, calling intermittently for his ridiculous house elf to find him particularly rare supplies ("Dobby, you infernal creature, standard dragonhide is _not good enough_ for the wallpaper!"). It was during one such request that an incredibly unusual exchange occurred between Malfoy master and Malfoy elf.

"Dobby will be ordering poudretteite for Master immediately. Would Master like to review Dobby's suggested ordering list for the rest of the Manor?"

"Suggested- what are you on about, elf?"

"Dobby is understanding that Malfoy's must be best, and so Dobby is investigating what other Sacred 28 families is ordering to make sure ours is better." This line, delivered in such a trembling voice that one would never guess the little elf had practiced it for the better part of three hours, was accompanied by wildly shuffling feet and a surprisingly straight back.

Lucius looked up, surprised. "What other houses are ordering you say? Are you insinuating that I don't know what's the best, you lazy cretin?"

"Dobby is knowing that Master Lucius knows best," Dobby said quickly, "But Dobby is also knowing that Master Lucius is a very important wizard and he is not having enough time to do absolutely everything, so Dobby is wanting to serve him well."

It went over Lucius' head that no house elf had ever complimented him except for when at risk for a punishment. "Incentive- shocking in such a ridiculously unreliable creature," he sneered, then paused thoughtfully before holding out his hand. "Well then, hand it over."

One moment of extreme courage from Dobby later, and a long list was sitting in Lucius' hand.

(It would be rather pointless to note that the writing clearly belonging to someone other than his own house elf _also_ went straight over Lucius' head.)

"Merlin- this is an entirely new kitchen! And who in the Sacred 28 has been restoring their ballroom and added on a swimming pool?"

"Dobby is not supposed to be sharing what he is learning from other elves to his master, but Dobby understands how important it is being for the Malfoys to be best," the little elf murmured slyly, eyes shining towards the floor, "It is being several several families with new kitchens, and the Bulstrodes is planning a whole new garden."

" _The Bulstrodes?_ "

"Yes, Master."

"Merlin, to think we'd be considered outdated when compared to those classless buffoons- Dobby, take this to Narcissa at once and request her oversight for these projects. The Bulstrodes! I want this handled _immediately_."

Dobby bowed so low to the ground that his nose raked the carpet as he retrieved the list from Lucius. "Yes, Master," he said, and disappeared from the room before the smile on his face could give the game away.

Thirty minutes later (after a hasty conference with his new Supreme Leader Pip via floo down in the kitchens) Dobby was tentatively knocking on the door to Narcissa's sitting room, where she typically managed her correspondence for the next day before joining her husband in his study.

"Enter."

"Missy Narcissa, Dobby is under orders from Master Lucius to tell you he wants to do some renovations."

Surprised, Narcissa sat down her pen and twisted in the seat of her writing desk. "Renovations?"

"Yes, Mistress. Master is telling Dobby to have the kitchen completely redone and work done in the gardens- whatever Mistress is wanting." Dobby kept his eyes on the ground and his ears flat back on his head as he spoke softly. Narcissa Did Not Like when staff members were loud, or less than properly subservient, or anything other than matter of fact.

A bemused smile quirking across her face, the Malfoy matriarch nodded. "Whatever I want? Lovely. We'll begin planning immediately after breakfast. Dobby, put that I'll be gone all morning on Lucius' schedule. Is there anything else?"

This, according to Pip, was the Most Important Part of Dobby's first assignments.

"No, mistress. Dobby is also being given an invitation for the little master from the Black Materfamilias."

"An invitation that didn't come by owl? How…. out of touch. I do wonder what she's up to now." Narcissa tapped one long finger on her desk before, to Dobby's relief, she seemed to accept it. "Proceed."

"Little master Malfoy is being invited to join the little Black heir and the Zabini child for an evening show this weekend."

"Oh?" Pleased, Narcissa glanced towards the calendar on her desk, then frowned. "I don't see any relevant shows on the social calendar- something charitable, I suspect?"

"Dobby is not sure, mistress- that was not being explained. I was asked to determine if the little master could be available on Saturday after tea time till bed time."

"I'll owl and confirm his availability- I do want to encourage that particular friendship to evolve, though in the future, Dobby, you _must_ demand more details."

"Dobby can be handling it for mistress if she is wanting?"

Surprised now, and a touch wary (for Narcissa was often quick to catch the things her husband was not), the Malfoy matriarch studied her house elf seriously. "You've yet to show a capability set for managing a calendar."

"Dobby is wanting to do his best for the Malfoys, especially the little master." Dobby played this trump card eagerly, allowing himself a practiced look of adoration in the direction of the nursery.

"Tentatively accept- tell Aunt Cassiopeia that our little dragon will be at Chateau Black immediately following his afternoon tea and nap. But bring me a list of those attending as chaperones." Pausing, Narcissa eyed the elf closely. "Fail me, or fail Draco, and I'll have you added to the head collection at Grimmauld Place. But I don't see why you shouldn't be given a single chance to prove you're worth more than my dear husband believes."

Gulping, Dobby nodded and hurried from the room with one final low, nose-scraping bow.

It may have been the most successful conversations he'd ever had with the heads of the family he served, but he was going to need a lot more help from the Supreme Leader Pip if he wanted to survive what was coming next.

* * *

_December 18, 1981_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

"That's an awfully elaborate bouquet," Elvira Zabini noted over tea on a particularly rainy Thursday afternoon.

Isla raised a single slim eyebrow, glancing from her daughter to the aforementioned bouquet on the table. "A thank you present."

"Canterbury bells and daisies as a thank you, Mother? _Dudosa_." Elvira glanced more closely at the flower arrangement. "If I didn't know first hand how absolutely disgustingly in _love_ you are with Papa-,"

("I take offense at that," Alejandro Calderon interjected from across the room where he was playing with his grandson.)

"-then I'd think you were up to something positively nefarious."

Humming noncommittally, Isla shook her head slightly. "You'd do well to remember that dual meanings are the basis of most forms of communication, darling."

Frowning in concentration, Elvira re-considered the oversized blooms for a long moment before a knowing light entered her eyes. "Still nefarious, Mother."

Isla shrugged gracefully and put another biscuit on her plate, the matter dismissed.

(The bouquet was, in fact, a thank you present from Rita Skeeter, as unidentifiable as Isla's original tip off regarding the Crowing Cock and a tidy solution to ensure that both players in that particular chess match knew where they stood.)

Fully aware that it was a waste of time to continue prying once her mother had shut down on a particular topic, Elvira turned her attention to the reason for her visit. "So you'll need to borrow Blaise for the weekend?"

Across the room, Blaise's ears perked up- he'd long since realized that weekends with his grandparents were infinitely preferable to the rounds of social calls his mother so enjoyed.

"Yes- but I've made arrangements for _you_ as well."

"Perdóname?"

Isla shot her husband a warning glance over one shoulder before continuing. "I've arranged for you to join the Granger family for a show."

Relaxing minutely, Elvira's lips tipped upward into an unreasonably pretty smirk. "Oh, that's no bother- I'm more than happy to cancel my plans for a good show. Do say we're going to L'Opera Magica. I've heard their Yule showings are nearly impossible to book tickets for normally."

Crossing her ankles under the table in a way that some observers would consider 'bracingly', Isla smiled widely at her temperamental only child. "Not quite- perhaps next year, if this weekend goes well, your Papa will get us all tickets."

"Oh?" Elvira's disappointment was clear. "Where to, then?"

"I believe the play is called The Nutcracker."

"I've heard of that, but- wait. Mother, isn't that originally a _muggle_ show?"

"Yes, darling."

"And this is a…. Magical rendition of it? Some half-blood sponsored thing?"

"Not quite. It's actually right in the Grangers' neighborhood."

"Their _muggle neighborhood_?" Elvira's voice rose a half dozen octaves and she slammed her teacup on the table. Across the room, Blaise dove under a couch to hide. " _Papa!_ Mother is trying to get me murdered by pitchfork wielding barbarians! Burned at the stake! _Tell her no!_ "

Looking distinctly uncomfortable to be brought into the conversation (and suffering nearly traumatic flashbacks to his daughter's teen years), Alejandro hemmed and hawed and finally, pulling Blaise out from under the couch and behind him, disappeared with some vague excuse about surveying the Yule decorations downstairs.

"Mother!"

* * *

_December 19, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

Helen Granger popped her third chocolate covered strawberry in her mouth and crossed one leg over the other with a self-satisfied sigh. "Love, you've outdone yourself."

Sitting across the parlor with a slowly waking Hermione in his lap, Daniel beamed. "Oh, it gets better."

"Better than all of this?" Helen asked, surprised, as she gestured from the Yves Saint Laurent burgundy velvet dress ensemble that had been waiting on their bed that morning to the plate of chocolate covered strawberries Daniel had gotten delivered from her favorite shop before tea.

"Definitely."

"Better than those?" Helen gestured toward her purse on the coffee table, which contained box seats for the local showing of the Nutcracker for that evening.

"Very much so."

A tad concerned, Helen leaned moved across the room to sit on the arm of the couch and run her fingers through her husband's dark curls. "Love, I know I was a bit tetchy over the dead cousin's magic blast situation last weekend, but you really don't need to buy back my affection. You already have it, forever and always."

A bit sheepish, Daniel shrugged. "Well, call this anniversary and Christmas and forgive me rolled up into one then, would you please? Really, darling, the next bit is free- but priceless. That's why it's the best part, I swear."

"If you say so." Helen pressed a quick kiss to his forehead and returned to her berries. "So what exactly are we waiting in here for?"

"For the party to arrive, of course," Daniel said innocently, checking his wrist watch. "Should be any-,"

As if Daniel's words had the same effect as a summoning circle, the doorbell rang.

"Show time."


	33. Nutcracker

_December 19, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

Still sleepy from his nap, little Draco Malfoy blinked rapidly around the parlor of the Chateau Black. Searching silver eyes took in everything from the bright green floo dust embedded in the carpet before the fireplace to the not quite color coded books lining one wall, finally landing on the two peculiar house elves before him.

"Dobby's mistress is wanting _details_."

"Pip is giving Dobby plenty of details to make his Mistress happy- Dobby is going to be reciting them now."

Draco's blinking stopped as he stared directly at the Black family elf, who didn't seem to have much in common with his own servant at all. She hadn't even _bowed_ to him, and father said all creatures must bow to him because he was a Malfoy.

"Dobby is remembering, Supreme Leader! Dobby is remembering all the details. The Calderons, the Zabinis, and the Black's will be in attendance in addition to the little heir apparent Black. They is all having a private box for the show, and it is being very posh befitting the Malfoy's station. The show is beyond Dobby's comprehension, but there is being many fairies and several magical transformations. They is having house elves to attend them the whole time in case the children are needing anything. The little master is being home between dinner time and bedtime."

"Dobby is progressing very nicely. The Supreme Leader is being very pleased!"

At not quite even two years old, this odd sounding statement and extremely official tone was enough to convince Draco that the Black elf was very clearly not of the _house_ elf variety. She was definitely something Other.

"Dobby is doing so well that the Supreme Leader will now be teaching him his next very important lesson."

Draco watched with quiet interest as his own elf gulped visibly.

"Dobby must be teaching his young master to not be embarrassing. If the little master is embarrassing, the whole House is embarrassed, and Dobby looks like a bad elf."

"Dobby is not being allowed to tell the little master what to do unless he is being in absolute danger."

A shifty expression crossed the Supreme Leader's face. "Dobby's little master is always being in absolute danger!"

" _What?!"_

"Yes. Dobby _must_ help his little master because if he does not… the little master is in danger of eventually disappointing his parents. And Dobby is knowing what that means."

Frankly, neither Dobby or Draco had a clue what that meant, but it certainly _sounded_ like a bad thing. Squaring his shoulders, the Malfoy elf turned to sharply face his youngest master.

"Master Draco is being on his best behavior and making his parents proud today," the little elf squeaked somewhat uncertainly. "Malfoys is having manners, and Malfoys is being little gentlemen to make good impressions. Dobby will be checking with the Supreme Leader to make sure the little master was Not Disappointing His Parents."

The Supreme Leader nodded approvingly while Draco blinked uncertainly. "Dobby did very well. Now he will be going, because Pip is having a schedule to keep."

* * *

Cassiopeia frowned as she caught a glimpse of herself in the looking glass. "Pip, if this is a muggle event, why am I wearing robes?"

"Those are not being robes, Missy Cassiopeia, they is being your new Christmas dress."

A bit uncertainly: "Christmas dress?"

"Christmas dress." Pip and Cassiopeia looked up in surprise as Isla emerged with catlike grace from Cassiopeia's bedroom fireplace (which she had, of course, warded herself directly into) with Blaise settled firmly on her hip. "Your elf and my seamstress have assured me this is all the rage for our age range in muggle London. It's as if they're trying to imitate us, don't you think?"

Cassiopeia looked in the mirror once more at the draping green velvet _Christmas dress._ "Perhaps," she finally allowed, then turned to face her friend. "Where is your daughter?"

"Coming along behind me. I had a bit of a… struggle… getting Elvira to agree to get dressed."

"Oh?"

Isla threw a glance towards the ceiling that seemed to suggest she'd spent at least the last hour listening to her only child rant on about ridiculous muggle fashions and the impracticality of the modern jumpsuit. "Suffice to say, yes."

* * *

_December 19, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

Daniel Granger bounded towards the front door as the doorbell rang, flinging it open with decidedly un-British gusto before stepping to the side with a flourish of his hands as if to display the occupants of the front stoop directly to his wife.

"Er, hello?"

The smug look on Daniel's face fell. "Oh- hello Mum. Hello Dad. Come on in then."

Marius raised a single eyebrow. "Such delightful manners our son has retained, Agnes."

"You'd think he was disappointed it was us," Agnes agreed. "Helen, dear, do you put up with this all of the time?"

Daniel huffed. "It's less that I'm not excited to see you, and more that I was expecting to see-,"

"Expecting to see _who_?" Helen stood a bit impatiently, taking the last of her chocolate covered strawberries with her as she moved to kiss her in laws on their cheeks.

"Ah, we can't ruin his surprise- have to maintain an iota of loyalty, I suppose. Oh, darling, you look fabulous." Agnes cooed as she stole Hermione off the ground and tapped the little girl's nose. "Are you ready for the show, little love?"

"Presents!"

"I'm afraid you've got quite the wait for those. And really, mother, an iota?"

"Well, I'm not going to complain- so far, Daniel's surprise has been fabulous." Helen's appreciative glance in her husband's direction transformed his exasperated expression into a beatific smile.

A sudden thud from the parlor made the entire Granger clan pause in their good natured teasing, turning to the hall door in surprise.

"Daniel, didn't you tell them to come to the door?"

"Of course!"

"And did you actually use the words 'come by the front door'?"

Daniel sighed. "No- I said the normal way."

"In that case…." Marius glanced down at his watch for confirmation. "I do believe you need to go and greet your guests."

* * *

_December 19, 1981_

_Hampstead Village Theater_

Hampstead Village, the self-proclaimed 'original urban village', took Christmas seriously. In addition to the famous winter lights display around the village, their festive annual high street market was attended by people from across the country and around the world. Jazz bands and singing groups performed around the clock, chestnuts and other seasonal delights made noses across London quiver in delight, and heavily decorated shop stalls sold everything from handmade ornaments to children's toys to nativity scenes and schnitzel.

The crowning jewel in Hampstead's long prized Christmas wonderland? The annual showing of the Nutcracker, performed by the prestigious local ballet school.

(This one show- or at least the school it was performed by- had been a major selling point when Agnes and Marius decided to move out of London proper. The children had been very young then, with hardly formed personalities, and both proud parents had had visions of Patricia growing up to dance across the stage as the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Unfortunately, Patricia couldn't walk in a straight line without tripping. Fortunately, Daniel had _really_ wanted to be the nutcracker, and pictures of this success still hung in the front room of Marius and Agnes' home.)

After decades of showings, the local presentation of the Nutcracker had become quite the popular full family event. There was a Santa available for pictures (an experience almost as spectacular as Santa's Grotto in Hamleys), cookies and hot chocolate for sale throughout the show, and a themed bar for the adults. Parents dressed themselves and their children in their Christmas best and showed off for neighbors and grandparents, and children tolerated being primped and ruffled within an inch of their lives to earn chocolate oranges and chestnuts at the end of the evening.

But despite decades of experience hosting one of London's best shows of the Christmas season each year, no one was prepared for the unlikely crowd that was coming through that evening.

* * *

Jack Baker had not particularly wanted to pick up a job over the hols, but when one's mum was the head of the theater, one had little choice in working the biggest show of the year.

It was a shame, because in addition to hating having to work over hols, Jack particularly hated the Nutcracker after having been forced to participate in it every year from the time he was born.

His _whole_ childhood, as he liked to accuse his parents, had been nothing but a series of bit parts and ushering jobs in the world's most overshown Christmas ballet.

Now that Jack was 16, any connection to the theater at all was deemed "completely and utterly humiliating, mum are you trying to ruin my life?"- though even Jack would admit the money he made as an usher was nice. Particularly nice now that he was seeing Olivia Byrne, the prettiest girl in his year, who everyone knew went through boyfriends like some people went through underwear. Jack had high hopes of winning her longer lasting affection with an absolutely stellar Christmas present (he would not) and of showing up the other guys at school when they were still seeing one another after break (he would not do this either).

As the youngest usher in the theater, Jack had been assigned simple tasks such as door greeter, seat escorter, and box attendant. Since most of these jobs had a half dozen other more experienced (and certainly more dedicated) staff members covering them at the same time, Jack often took advantage of the chaos before shows to sneak off to the alleyway out back to paw through questionable magazines and consider trying to smoke the cigarettes he'd swiped from his mum.

On December 19th, shortly before the Saturday early show (marketed for children and beginning at 4 pm), Jack finally worked up the nerve to actually _light_ the cigarette. Several fumbling attempts with the lighter were quickly followed by a bout of lung burning choking (how did people in the magazines look _cool_ when they did this?!). Undeterred (he'd gotten this far, hadn't he?) Jack carefully raised the cigarette to his mouth once more, eyes watering like mad. Rumor had it that Olivia Byrne smoked cigarettes with older boys after school- Jack absolutely had to figure this out too.

And that was when it began.

The alleyway that Jack had chosen had one wide point of entry at the front and one very, very narrow one at the back which was completely locked off. It was (in Jack's young mind) a nearly perfect hiding spot due to the need to only lookout in one direction.

"Everyone alright?"

Specifically, lookout towards the front.

"Right as rain, aren't you children?"

More specifically, no need to ever check out the back of the alley.

"Stick together now, everyone, we don't want to miss the show."

But these voices were definitely coming from the back.

Jack froze, cigarette dangling from his mouth as he stared through watery eyes to the back of the alleyway. How on earth had a whole group of people gotten there? They certainly hadn't walked past Jack through the front of the alley.

A parade of people emerged from the semi-darkness of the back of the alley: first a distinguished looking older man followed by three small children in single file line like ducklings, then a younger couple walking arm in arm, then three women about the age of the older man came dusting off their heavy winter dresses, and finally a single, irritable looking younger woman.

They all stopped when they saw Jack, the tiny duckling children bumping into one another like mishappen dominoes.

"Hello young man, visit often?" the older man asked cheerfully, and, to Jack's total shock, reached over and plucked the cigarette from his mouth. "Dreadful habit, my boy, dreadful habit."

Then the parade continued, out the front of the alley and towards the theater's front doors, with the only other reaction to Jack being a positively disgusted glance from the ridiculously attractive woman at the rear of the group.

Jack gaped as they went. Had that old man really stolen his cig? And where had they all come from, anyways?

The gate!

Creeping towards the back of the alley, Jack was further confused by the rusty padlock left in place, same as always, on the gate across the back of the alley. Then how….?

For the first time in the 1981 theater season, Jack quite willingly went in to do his job.

It took a minute to find the group, hidden as they were amongst dozens of other similarly outfitted families, but Jack finally spotted them near the concessions. Under the premise of clearing off the round tables near concessions, he stared at them out of the corner of their eye and listened in on their order.

"Mother, are you sure this isn't all poisonous to our system?" the irritable lady in a jumpsuit was loudly stage whispering to one of the three older women, all who looked exasperated.

"Elvira, you are no more at risk for being _poisoned_ than you are for being burnt at the stake- would you please relax?"

_Burnt at the stake?_

The older gentleman was ordering for the three ducklings- children- who crowded around his knees hopefully. "Hot cider for each of them, and how about three biscuits as well. And do you children like fairy floss?"

"Fairy floss?" Elvira hurried forward, "Blaise! Don't eat fairy food, everyone knows-,"

"She means that Blaise doesn't do well with too much sugar." The younger woman who was there with her husband rushed forward, grabbing her companion by the arm in a death grip. In a quieter voice that Jack had to really strain himself to hear: "Elvira, fairy floss is just a name- muggles don't actually serve anything made by fairies."

Elvira relaxed minutely, but her reproachful glare stayed in place. "Honestly Helen, this is barbaric- to name a sweet after something that could kill you!"

_Fairies? Muggles? What the-_

When their orders were completed (a round of cider was had by all, and each child plus one of the older women had a whole pile of biscuits to share), the group moved along towards their seats where, to Jack's absolutely delight, they had clearly rented out a private box.

It took a bit of quick talking and several beaming smiles to convince the other box attendants that he was serious about caring for the Box 4 on his own (though Jack was convinced he was clever, everyone knew he was a total slacker), but he managed it, and before the show started he was hidden in the dark navy curtains of the box's door watching the strange group. The first several minutes of watching netted him several observations, including each party member's name and some of their connections (for example, Hermione was clearly Helen's daughter). More importantly:

Angry Elvira and her exasperated mother Isla were clearly very eccentric, because both were confused when their seats were not pulled out for them and thrown off by the "lack of ability to zoom in on the stage".

Cassiopeia was apparently some kind of inspector, because she couldn't stop commenting on how different things in the box worked- even basic things, like the railing. She also stole one of the little kids' biscuits.

Agnes and her husband, Marius, were extremely amused by the antics of everyone else and had somehow ended up responsible for all three children.

The youngest looking child, Draco, kept demanding things 'till the younger man, Daniel, told him that it was Bad Manners to treat everyone like a house elf ("And really, don't treat the house elves that way either young man.")

The word "muggle" was mentioned at least three dozen times with no clear context.

_Muggles? Elves? House elves?_

Jack wasn't entirely sure _why_ it all seemed so incredibly off- after all, loads of people were weird and used even weirder phrases who came to the show- but he was certain he was onto something. Maybe even something big! Not big like walking into school on the first day of next term with Olivia Bryne would be, but definitely still big.

Unfortunately for Jack, the show began and there was very little he could observe in the near total darkness. It wasn't till intermission that he had his next chance to peak on the group.

"Wonderful show so far, isn't it?" Marius asked jovially, carefully setting Hermione on the floor next to the other two toddlers to fight over one of the last remaining biscuits. "If you need to use the loo, I'd pop over quickly- there's a private one for box seats, but the lines can still be a bit and you won't want to miss any of the second half."

Elvira squeaked. "Muggles have restrooms? What, did they dig individual holes in the ground?"

Helen smiled broadly. "Exactly. You squat right over the dirt and relieve yourself. In the fanciest loos, there's even someone else to bury your mess for you! Fancy going with me?"

"I would most certainly rather not!"

"No, really, I insist!" Helen grinned and stood and, with a surprisingly easy bit of force, pulled Elvira out of her seat and through the curtains.

"Really, Madam Calderon, how did your daughter become so uneducated regarding the muggle world?" Agnes asked with some surprise, "After all, your own deportment is applaudable."

Isla waved one long slim hand airily. "Elvira's always been a stubborn child when it comes to 'seeing and believing'. This next generation will have to do better to make us proud, wont you children?"

The three toddlers glanced up at her uncertainly. Draco was chomping on Blaise's hand and Hermione was tugging Draco's hair.

"Well, they may have quite a ways to go still."

By the time an absolutely bewildered Elvira and an incredibly smug Helen reappeared, the show was re-starting, so Jack learned very little about the women's trip to the loo (which, he knew from being on cleaning crew, most certainly did not include any dirt holes or shovels). However, the irritable woman had been effectively silenced it seemed.

Unfortunately for Jack, he was summoned backstage to help with lighting equipment shortly before the end of the show and his spying came to an end. Resigned to never knowing more about the odd group, he slunk back outside after the show and into the alley, pulled out another stolen cigarette, and decided that he ought to give it another go so that he could say he'd at least accomplished _one_ thing that day.

"Not at it again, are you?"

Startled, Jack turned to see the parade of people walking through the front of the alley right past him. The older gentleman sighed and shook his head very gravely. "Do have a care for your health my boy."

Shocked silent, Jack held the cigarette halfway behind his back and watched as the group faded into the shadows.

"Happy Christmas!" one of them called cheerfully, and there were several loud popping noises (the gate?) followed by total silence. When Jack ran back to see where they'd gone, the gate was still padlocked shut and the alley was deserted.

Well, almost deserted.

"My great-niece is the memory charm master, but I'll have to do today," Cassiopeia sighed, and Jack watched anxiously as she pulled a long stick out of her sleeve. "And while I'm at it, I'll help you make sure you actually listen to my dear brother's surprisingly good advice. Hold still now. _Obliviate._ "

A good thirty minutes passed before Jack finally wandered back inside to clean Box 4. When asked what had spurred his sudden interest in its occupants, he shrugged morosely. "Awfully pretty lady in the red jumpsuit," he commented finally, not quite sure what to say about the _perfectly ordinary_ group he'd cared for during the children's show. Unwilling to engage in an actual conversation, he turned away to think about possible presents for Olivia Bryne.

The next several days were a whirlwind for the sixteen year old theater employee. Olivia unceremoniously dumped him about ten second after he gave her real emerald studs for Christmas. His friends decided to start a band. The group he'd attended in Box 4 were completely forgotten.

And for the rest of his life, every time Jack Baker tried to pick up a cigarette, it somehow managed to jump out of his hand.


	34. Moony's Return

_December 20, 1981_

_Seedy muggle hotel, London_

Remus Lupin had graduated Hogwarts with a stellar reputation: renowned prefect with references from McGonagall herself (a rare achievement), head of the Gobstones club, eleven recorded NEWT's… he was a swot, sure, but a well loved one. Known amongst Hogwarts faculty for being the level-headed, rule abiding member of the Marauders, Remus Lupin had staff and students alike wrapped around his finger by graduation.

No one ever considered that a rule-abiding Marauder was still a Marauder.

Remus Lupin never got caught, never sat detention, and never really ticked anyone (aside from perhaps Severus Snape) off for one simple reason: he was ridiculously clever when it came to making the rules work for him.

In fact, his ability to quote the handbook to keep himself (and often the other Marauders) out of trouble was the main reason Minerva McGonagall gave him a personal reference. "Lupin, I literally changed the handbook over the summer specifically to avoid this exact situation _\- how on earth did you already figure out a loophole_?"

Fortunately for Remus, his sense of cunning was ingrained. That was why, after fighting his way out of the rogue werewolf packs he'd been spying on for Dumbledore and suffering through one of the absolute worse full moon's of his short life, he didn't go to Hogwarts to demand answers.

He didn't go home to his parents.

He didn't even owl any of his old contacts or teachers or fellow Order members.

Instead, Remus Lupin laid low and gathered information. Re-learned the handbook, so to speak.

It was hard to learn anything about the Wizarding World without a paper, so Remus's first step was to disguise himself and slip into Diagon Alley to subscribe to both of the wizarding world's household news publications: the _Daily Prophet_ and _The Quibbler_ (Remus was not nearly as biased against _The Quibbler_ as one might expect given his obsession with proper citations).

The first several headlines he saw were enlightening, but also… confusing. And concerning. But mostly, confusing. For example, between the 14th and 19th of December, the _Prophet_ printed the following:

December 14, 1981: _Hogwarts Headmaster All Fur Coat and No Knickers_?

December 15, 1981: _Ministry of Magic Dallies In Sirius Black Investigation, Continues Holding Prisoner in Azkaban (Illegally?)_

December 16, 1981 _: Department of Magical Law Enforcement Files Complaint Against Supreme Mugwump for Unethical Behavior_

December 17, 1981: _Augusta Longbottom: "Because of the Blacks, my grandson may actually know his parents."_

December 18, 1981: _Supreme Mugwump & Wizengamot Announce Black Cannot Be Released Prior to Trial (Without Acceptable House Arrest Arrangement)_

December 19, 1981: _Black Family's Petition to Sponsor Sirius Black's House Arrest Denied by Wizengamot- DMLE to Lodge Next Complaint._

_The Quibbler's_ headlines on the same dates were no less shocking, but news of the rapidly brewing discord between Dumbledore, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Blacks was vastly overshadowed by news of Newt and Tina Goldstein's recent discoveries abroad. In fact, only December 19th's headline was of any particular interest to Remus: _Surviving the Killing Curse- Will Harry Potter Be Available for Study?_

(The article's conclusion- that Harry Potter was currently not- was of great relief to Remus, who, in his younger years, had frequently been warned by his parents of bad wizards who took great joy in experimenting on werewolves.)

The second step Remus Lupin took on his information gathering quest required a bit more… subterfuge. He used Muggle methods (his mother, bless her, had been very into theater) to dress up like a traveling Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover salesman, then used his heavily bearded alias as an excuse to get information directly from the sources.

"I really don't need-," August Longbottom's expression (and hat) were fierce, but Remus refused to be deterred.

"If you'd only let me in briefly to show you how effective this stuff is! Your house elves will thank you for it, and you'll be amazed." Remus beamed at her, and when she still looked like she'd rather slam the door in his face: "Please, ma'am, if I don't meet my quota of house calls today, I'm liable to be released, and I have a toddler at home."

"A toddler, you say?" Augusta hesitated, glancing behind her. "Well, I suppose I can let you tackle the stain my Neville put into the dining room carpet. If you can get it out- Morganna knows the house elves haven't been able- then I'll buy a case."

With a deeply grateful murmur and a little bow, Remus followed her through the front door and towards Longbottom Manor's casual dining room. The wards tickled, but Remus did not worry as they couldn't detect a muggle disguise made of makeup and wigs and a shabby suit picked up from the local salvage shop.

Augusta, fortunately, stayed and kept a sharp eye on Remus as he tackled the stain in her rug. (Little Neville had apparently inherited his mother's penchant for mess making- something that Remus remembered driving Lily absolutely insane at school.) It gave him the perfect opportunity to casually question her about the bits and pieces of news he'd so far gathered, and, to Remus's surprise and delight, she was more than willing to talk about Frank and Alice and their treatment by the Black family.

"I never would have agreed to it normally- after all, the Blacks were hardly on the right side of the war, any one of them. But Madam Black, the new materfamilias? She realigned the entire Black family tree they say. I saw first hand that she brought a squib back into the family, and Andromeda Tonks' family was even seen at Orion Black's funeral!"

"My wife mentioned that your son and his wife were doing well from your statement in the paper?"

"I wouldn't say well- I refuse to get my hopes up, or to get my grandson's hopes up. Hope is for the foolish, and actions are louder than words in my opinion. However, Frank and Alice are both showing signs of physical improvement, and the night terrors have stopped. As I told the reporter, that is a marked difference from the way they were at St. Mungos- the staff there thought it could be years before they relaxed to this point." Augusta fixed a stern look on Remus that made him scrub more diligently. "But recover themselves? No. Not yet. And again… hope is for fools, my good sir."

By the time Remus left, the stain in the rug was gone (he had, fortunately, been well-prepared enough to actually bring a case of the product he intended to pretend to sell with him, and he didn't feel entirely awful for upcharging Madam Longbottom in the name of further investigative work) and he had quite a bit more information than he'd started with about the Longbottoms and the Blacks if nothing else.

The next stop on Remus's sales route (well, after he replenished his stock that is) was Amelia Bones' residence. She refused to let him inside, but did buy a bottle of product after glancing at her niece in resignation. She also, when gently pressed, gave him the contact information for others who may be interested in the product: including one member of the auror team that the _Daily Prophet_ had listed as being in charge of Sirius Black's investigation.

Emily Clarke herself was not home- presumably, she was out doing her own detective work- but her husband Neil was more than happy to invite in a traveling salesman for an adult conversation- ANY adult conversation- as he'd been at home with their infant son for the past six months and was not-so-slowly going insane. Remus could not have appreciated Neil- or his chattiness, or his clearly communication heavy relationship with his wife- more. By the time he left he'd not only sold two more bottles of cleaner (one for the Clarke family, one for Neil's mum), Remus had also learned all about Cornelius Fudge and Crouch's absolute disgrace, details of the illegal arrest, the quiet rumors amongst the members of the auror investigative unit who'd once worked with Sirius about his potential innocence, and the current theories for who would have been working with- or framed- him.

Remus had planned to make another stop that day (the Bulstrodes were notoriously gossipy, surely they would have good insight into whatever was going on currently) but he found himself moving on auto pilot. Instead of apparating over to Bulstrode Keep, he found himself walking miles and miles, finally stopping when he fell into the bed of the seedy motel he'd elected to stay at with the remainder of his money.

" _Between you and me mate, my wife is convinced that Black is innocent after reviewing memories of his arrest and of his school days- innocent or imperiused."_

Imperiused- and wasn't he just the perfect candidate? Sirius, with his bad reputation and quick temper and unfortunate family connections. Even Remus had wondered. Even _Remus_.

" _The entire arrest was completely illegal!"_

And no one had realized for months?

" _Horrible what happened to all of them, in my opinion. My wife says- well, mate, this is confidential, but- my wife says that all of the character witnesses say Potter, Black, Pettigrew, and some bloke named Lupin were thicker than thieves. A few people say they always thought Black would go bad because of his family- but most of them? They say otherwise."_

They say otherwise. They say otherwise. They say-

" _I was telling my wife, the thing I think is weird is that he blew up so many people at once- like, the first part of auror training was a course on minimizing collateral damage? That's not something you forget, even if you do go, ya know, bad."_

No, it wasn't. Sirius had said that himself.

If James had been there- but James couldn't be there, ever again.

If Peter hadn't-

Remus' thoughts froze to a screeching halt, and he sat up straight in bed. There was a piece of the narrative that had felt wrong to him since the beginning, like a rule written in the margins in pencil that someone was trying to pass off as official.

_Peter._

Scrambling up, Remus grabbed the stack of newspapers by the bed and sorted through them rapidly. Where was it? He just needed to-

… _. Cornelius Fudge reports that, before being obliviated, muggle witnesses stated that they heard Pettigrew screaming "Lily! James! How could you Sirius?"_

And then the world blew up.

Remus grabbed the hotel's faded paper pad and pen from the desk. He had questions- lots of questions- and there was quite a bit more information to gather before he could completely shut down.

_1\. If Sirius was imperiused- why did he even notice Peter?_

_2\. If Sirius wasn't imperiused- how would Peter have even found him?_

_3\. What spell could possibly leave nothing but a finger?_

_4\. How, exactly, had Lily and James been hiding? Dumbledore had been in charge of their safety- when did that change?_

_5\. Why did no one in the Order go speak with Sirius?_

Tapping his pen incessantly against his thigh, Remus squinted at the wall sightlessly.

Step three would make waves but they were, it seemed, necessary. Remus needed more information, and he wasn't going to be able to find anymore of it from the shadows.

The most clever of the Marauders was going to solve his greatest puzzle yet.

Moony was back.


	35. Alphard Black

_December 21, 1981_

_British Ministry of Magic, London_

Albus Dumbledore settled into the throne-like seat customarily reserved for the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and pasted on his most grandfatherly expression- complete with eye twinkles and beard stroking.

Once, when he was much (much, much, MUCH) younger, Dumbledore had scorned the elderly population. He'd had no time for the stereotypical jovial nature, general concern for public welfare, or inaction that mankind seemed to accumulate more of each year. There was a reason that the elderly were expected to slow down, to step down, to move aside for creatures of action (like himself). The elderly played a very small role in Albus Dumbledore's plans for The Greater Good.

And then, to his shock, he himself had aged beyond what that younger version of himself had ever imagined.

Albus Dumbledore had no issue with dying- after all, he had impressed on hundreds of impressionable young minds over the decades that death was just the next great adventure. Thousands of international displays of power- ahem, providing help averting international crises- was plenty of proof of both his bravery and his total willingness to sacrifice himself (or so people said).

Dumbledore had, however, taken quite a bit of issue with being thought of as _weak_. Because if there was one thing that did haunt his nightmares, it was the very idea of giving up control.

After all, if Dumbledore were not in power, who would steer the world towards The Greater Good? Not even Gellert, his closest companion and most trusted confidante, had managed to bring their shared vision to life.

It was his love of playing puppeteer that allowed Dumbledore to learn the value of being considered 'old'. People had never looked at him and murmured behind their hands about ineptitude or a desperate need to retire- instead, they looked at him and saw decades on decades of courage, and success, and leadership. They were blinded by his all-knowing, twinkling eyes. They were lulled by his automatic aura of seniority. Most importantly, those who'd be quick to call out a younger man for a scheme would call the same plan from an older man Logic or Brilliance or (Dumbledore's personal favorite) Sheer Ingenuity.

There was no place that this outer façade was more useful than in the midst of the assembled Wizengamot (particularly now, when half the members had once been his students!). It was just a shame that Dumbledore's most polished, grandfatherly performances seemed to be positively wasted on one Amelia Bones.

"My dear, surely we've had this conversation before?" Dumbledore smiled gently at the already bristling Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

_(Step 1: Remind the rest of the Wizengamot they should be annoyed about having their time wasted. One point to Dumbledore.)_

"We most certainly have- I find it disappointing that you've repeatedly refused all requests to carry out the law _to the letter_ and are instead leaving a man in Azkaban without even a trial date." Amelia Bones paused, glanced at the paperwork before her, and frowned even more fiercely. "And by repeatedly, I mean that I have 37 rejected submissions for a suitable home arrest in my possession."

"And of these, how many were technical duplicates refiled to appear more complicit?"

_(Step 2: Suggest guilty behavior on the part of the other party to mask one's own behavior while simultaneously decreasing observers' faith in the overall argument. One point to Dumbledore.)_

"I'm comfortable acknowledging that 22 of these submissions were from the Black family, though I do _not_ agree with your choice of language. ' _Appear_ more complicit'? No- these _are_ complicit. They have included completely different combinations of Black family members and properties while rising to the strict standards that you, sir, have added onto at each of these meetings."

_(Specific details to make the Wizengamot feel unreasonable? Amelia Bones took her first point.)_

"And how would you describe the other petitions?"

Dumbledore resisted the urge to scowl at Shacklebolt when the younger man interrupted. There was a pecking order in the Wizengamot, after all, and Shacklebolt was not at the top of it- certainly not high enough to speak out of turn.

"Of the remaining 15 petitions, 4 were presented to you as dubious options- random, otherwise uninvolved volunteers who we would prefer to avoid but did not want to veto in case you were rejecting the offers of close relatives for a reason. The final 11 were presented by members of the MLE department, all uncomfortable with the high cost the ministry will owe Black if we continue detaining him illegally."

_(Shacklebolt had absolutely handed that point to Bones- Dumbledore was not pleased. He really hated being tied.)_

"I fail to understand why detaining a potential terrorist- a threat to our nation, I might add- is being so vigorously objected to by our Magical Law Enforcement Department," Dumbledore twinkled as hard as he could, trying to catch Amelia's eye to read her next argument in advance. Unfortunately, well-trained Aurors knew better than to make contact with anyone they didn't trust (and oh! How it _rankled_ to know she didn't trust him, didn't buy into his grandfatherly routine.). "Surely your primary duty is the safety of our people?"

_(Step 3: Make the public nervous. A third point to Dumbledore.)_

"The Ministry has borne great expense from the war- an expense that we are only just now building up from, and an expense that will _quadruple_ if we are required to pay legal fees to Black or any other unjustly detained civilian. I see no issue with detaining a potential terrorist- so long as it is done in a legal manner. It is the safety of every member of our society with which I am concerned."

"The Ministry surely cannot be faulted for taking every possible precaution with the war so recently over," countered a voice from near the back, and Dumbledore resisted the urge to smile with pleasure.

"Every possible precaution has been suggested for the house arrest. Black will not be allowed a single leniency- he will simply be kept from going insane!" Amelia fought for control, and Dumbledore was forced to swallow his disappointment when she regained it. A tantrum would have done wonders for his side of the argument. "Black will not be kept in any unsafe areas. He will have a guard. He will have-,"

"You say these things, but do you actually finally have a viable solution for his house arrest?"

_(One point to Dumbledore for bringing up her failures to present a suitable option to date- not that he would have let any through.)_

The slow smile on Amelia's face did not bode well, however.

"I do believe so. Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce you to the most reasonable possible solution to our ongoing conflict: Alphard Black."

Dumbledore's eyes jumped quickly from the young Department Head to the wide table set up behind her. At the far end, a wizard decked out in a set of scandalous American robes with red, white, and blue pinstripes stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the chair behind him, and waved a single hand jauntily through the air.

"Alphard Black at your service. Now let me tell you how I plan to ensure the safety of the nation at my own expense, rather than yours."

_(Ten points to Amelia, because as everyone knows, money is worth a particularly large bonus. Dumbledore had lost before anyone in the room could say "game, set, match".)_

* * *

_December 22, 1981_

_Azkaban Prison_

Sirius Black pressed himself against the frozen stone walls of his prison, coiled into a stiff ball of dark fur and staring blankly into the heavy grey gloom that permeated the whole island.

He had stopped muttering- the guards had taken it as incentive to further abuse him, and he frankly didn't have enough energy to be kicked repeatedly in the ribs day in and day out. Sirius' silence, and the resulting lack of interested guards, had had an unexpected bonus (though really, his ribs did appreciate the break): hours could now be spent in solitude as his animagus form Padfoot, his mind and soul safely locked away from the Dementors who could sense his presence but not his form.

The more time he spent as Padfoot, the sharper his mind became. The sharper his mind became, the more time he spent thinking about Peter's betrayal, Remus' disappearance, his abandonment by the Order of Phoenix, and...

Aunt Cassie.

He had spent some time trying to remember what she looked like, but too often his mind wandered to her sister. Dorea, who had been so pleased to take him in, so pleased to have a second son, so pleased to-

Even as Padfoot, sometimes it was hard not to think sad thoughts. Thoughts like, _if Dorea and Charles hadn't died, then-_

Sirius would eventually shake his head as if the bad thoughts might come out of his ears like water from a pool, then return to the original focus of his thoughts: Aunt Cassie, and the trial she was, apparently, insisting that he get.

Sirius had long since decided that it did not matter what the new family Materfamilias wanted from him- Bella had had her magic removed, his own mother was rotting down the hall (loudly, very loudly). Clearly, she wasn't entirely evil if she had so quickly pruned away those two particularly insane family members. So she could demand whatever payment she wanted, as long as Sirius was allowed a chance to make up his failure to care for Harry as James and Lily wished.

_I'm not the guilty one. I'm not the guilty one. I'm not the-_

The sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall shook him from his reverie, and he quickly transformed from dog to man.

"Black! Thought I should come visit you- my last chance before you depart."

Sirius' heart stuttered in his chest. Last chance? Were they going to-?

"Bet you haven't heard yet, have you? Filthy animal." The guard spat through the cell bars in Sirius' direction, falling just short of his toes. "You's to be transferred to some fancy _house arrest_ until the Wizengamot collects enough evidence to send you back here. Except, you know what I think?"

Sirius remained silent, eyes locked on the ground and body pressed more tightly into the corner. _Not the ribs today, not the ribs._

"I think that they'll administer the kiss right there in the courtroom, and we'll never see your pretty mug around here again. How do you feel about that, huh?" The guard laughed- a distinctly unpleasant sound- and reached into one deep pocket to pull out a folded newspaper. Angling it between the bars, he threw it at Sirius' head, connecting with a soft thump. "Extra, extra, read all about it- traitor gets what 'e deserves. I 'spect that'll be the next headline."

To Sirius' relief, the guard was satisfied with shooting only a few stinging hexes- mild, really, compared to his mother's, the guard ought to go down the hall to ask her for lessons- before strutting away, still crowing about how excited he was for Sirius' kiss.

Once he was far enough away, Sirius gingerly pulled open the newspaper which was, surprisingly, almost pristine. The crossword was even untouched! Blessed by Merlin, that was a miracle in itself.

When he got stuck on 5 across ("they come in last", 3 letters), he turned to work through the actual meat of the publication (though, he would be the first to admit that the _Daily Prophet_ was a bit loose about what they considered news). He was rather surprised to find a picture of himself- not that Merlin accursed mugshot, but an old photo of his younger self with his Uncle Alphie and Reggie- smiling out of the front page.

**Breaking News! Breaking News!**

Black Materfamilias Orders Reclusive Eccentric to Oversee House Arrest

_Article by Rita Skeeter_

Dear readers, it has been nearly two months since Sirius Black was imprisoned in Azkaban for the murder of 13 muggles and one Peter Pettigrew as well as the betrayal of the Potter family to the late He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. You've read for weeks now about the questionable arrest on the part of the Ministry (see page 14- _What Was Wrong With Crouch Anyways?_ ) and the surprising actions taken by the Black family since the end of the war (see page 9- _A Halfblood Black? Old Magic Reawakens in Great House_ ). Together, we have wondered what to believe, and who we should be avoiding.

Well, for you, dear readers, I have continued my investigation. And it is my opinion that what I have learned today only thickens the plot.

A confidential informant working in the Ministry of Magic- name protected because, as my most devoted readers know, the best sources are the safest ones- has informed me that after a grand total of 38 recommendations for Sirius Black's house arrest, one has been accepted.

Who, you may wonder, would possibly be given custody of the assumed national terrorist feared by magicals and muggles alike?

None other than Alphard Black (pictured, above, with Sirius Black- left- and Regulus Black- deceased, right- in 1970).

But who _is_ Alphard Black?

Once known amongst classmates as the most outgoing of his generation of Blacks at Hogwarts, Alphard Black disappeared promptly after graduation. Much to my own surprise, it was not an illicit love child with a Veela show girl in Finland- instead, Alphard was recruited by the Miami Firebirds to play Quodpot in the colonies.

Dear readers, you may remember Quodpot as the bastardized variation of Quidditch that our American brethren so love from my article last year (Why American Sports Are Peculiar). It seems that Alphard learned the game from magazines, and international recruiters impressed by his speed and spellwork whisked him away with no complaint from the Blacks. Alphard's team did surprisingly well until he retired and returned to the homeland some fifteen years ago. Since then, he seems to have taken great delight in doing very little, avoiding conflicts at all costs, and otherwise enjoying his fortune on his own (surprisingly, this particular wizard never made it to the most eligible bachelors list. Perhaps it's the Quodpot scars?).

Now, Alphard has been summoned by his Materfamilias to take up his most important role yet: Babysitting Sirius Black until his trial.

But why has the Wizengamot accepted Alphard as a suitable house arrest sponsor when so many other proposals- seemingly more reasonable proposals- were shot down with no questions asked? As your devoted informant, dedicated to serving the good public with the truth they're looking for, I have several theories.

Firstly, they may have been swayed by Alphard's offer to cover any expense incurred for illegally imprisoning Sirius Black to date (we're talking thousands and thousands of galleons of debt being transferred here- the goblins would have a field day).

Secondly, they may have been afraid to tell Amelia Bones no. Rumor has it that the newest Department Head is as fierce as a dragon- my informant reports shaking in her very expensive shoes while watching Madam Bones glare down the Wizengamot in pursuit of true justice (something which I suppose we must all be grateful for her enforcement of).

Thirdly- and dear readers, I do believe this reason most likely of all- Alphard Black was disowned by Walburga Black (imprisoned for life), hunted by Bellatrix Black (stripped of family magic, declared unfit), and is whispered to have worked directly with the shadow organization credited with many of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's defeats: The Order of Phoenix. Even the Chief Warlock, who has expressed decided opposition to anything revolving the freeing of Sirius Black, could not argue that such a well trained and dependable wizard is unfit to manage an Auror-assisted and Ministry-warded house arrest.

I have, of course, reached out to Alphard directly for comment (excitement over his successful case? Fear for his life facing such a potentially dangerous criminal? Grief over the long term legacy to be left by a once favored nephew?) but have not received a return owl. I have, however, received a comment directly from Madam Black herself: "The entire family is eager to come to the truth of the matter- we only want to ensure that all criminals involved are correctly punished, to the fullest extent of the law. My late sister, Dorea Potter, and her family deserve to have no stone left unturned."


	36. Yule

**A/N:** Hello everyone! A few quick updates before we begin: (a) There will be NO updates next week. Next scheduled post is November 30th. (b) I accidentally copied over an unedited version of chapter 35 and posted without realizing- this has since been rectified. If you were confused, you may want to re-read now that it has been fixed. (c) The crossword puzzle answer mentioned in this chapter and the last WILL eventually be answered- however, as a heads up, no one has guessed the correct answer yet.

Cheers everyone, have a lovely weekend and week!

* * *

_December 21, 1981_

_Chateau Black, France_

When Cassiopeia Black self-exiled herself to Chateau Black with only one odd house elf for company, very few of the things she cared about could be found outside of a potions lab.

"I'm really only interested in my research, Pip- you can take care of the rest, can't you?" Cassiopeia had said at the time, waving one hand airily.

"The rest, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"Oh you know, all of the house of course, and maybe you could keep track of my calendar, and I suppose you'll need to manage the mail, and-," Cassiopeia had shrugged. "I can just leave it to you to figure things out, can't I?"

And Pip, of course, had done exactly that. It took only the first few weeks of Cassiopeia staring at her blankly when asked for an opinion for Pip to realize the extent of her mistress' apathy and begin arranging things to her own liking.

(The grounds had been Pip's first experiment- thousands of useless lilies and daffodils were ripped out to make way for a garden which, in addition to being aesthetically pleasing year round, was toxic enough to take out a small dragon or large angry mob- as needed, of course. Cassiopeia hadn't even noticed till Pip pointed it out.)

Pip (who had more in common with a border collie than her house elf kin) had quickly learned the importance of routines when managing an absent minded witch with a penchant to disappear into research projects. Breakfast, for example, was the pair's most sacred daily ritual for a variety of pragmatic reasons including:

1\. It forced Cassiopeia to eat something besides biscuits (lack of protein stifled her creative process).

2\. Reading the news ensured they weren't _totally_ lost in their own world (though it should be noted that Pip still bitterly bemoaned not throwing the paper into the fire when their House was first mentioned).

3\. Forcing Cassiopeia to correspond with friends (namely Isla), family (namely her siblings), or fellow academics and investors (a much larger group by far) ensured Pip actually had a social calendar to play with.

Despite her general sense of indifference for life outside the lab, Cassiopeia being a Black by both birth and nature meant there were still several times of each year that she paused her projects and heralded tradition: namely, holidays.

Holidays were an integral part of the Black family (and, more importantly, their magic). The proper observance of each seasonal festival in the Wheel of The Year had once been described to Cassiopeia as the original source of the family magic running through her veins. Frankly, the only thing more important for maintaining the family magic were funerals.

As a very young child, Cassiopeia had not been required to take active part in preparations for any of the 8 major celebrations of the year (Yule, Imbolc, Ostara, Beltane, Litha, Lughnasadh, Mabon, and Samhain). Much like her cousins and siblings, Cassiopeia was only expected to show up, maintain a proper disposition, and enjoy the after-feast.

Things had changed when Marius was declared a squib.

"We have been _cursed_ , Cassiopeia Black, and because of your interference your father and uncle refuse to even prune the tree! It is now _your_ responsibility to do whatever it takes to protect the family magic from _your curse_ and make up for the failures of that… that creature!" Violetta Black nee Bulstrode had not minced her words when cornering her oldest daughter in the days following Marius being sent off to the muggle world.

Despite knowing that her mama was more prone to theatrics than logical thought, Cassiopeia had heeded the warning well and, 55 years years later, the uptight matron would have been either very surprised or very pleased (or perhaps, knowing Violetta, very unconcerned for anyone other than herself) to learn that the materfamilias spell and all of Cassiopeia's actions thereafter were the mere tip of her daughter's dedication to the family magic.

Now, Cassiopeia had decided it was time to introduce her new heir to the holidays that she would one day oversee.

"I'm sorry, Yule? As in the seasonal festival celebrated by a variety of ancient Roman and Germanic cultures since the late Stone Age? As in the traditional celebration of the rebirth of the sun and the upcoming planting seasons through feasts and sacrifices and pagan dancing otherwise known as Midwinter? That Yule?"

Cassiopeia raised a single brow. "Nephew, if your wife maintains this level of unrequested preparation for our conversations then I'm afraid I'll have to claim _her_ as blood kin instead of you."

Daniel shrugged. "If it helps, I don't ever plan on letting her go?"

Distracted, Cassiopeia glanced between the pair. "Oh? Care to indulge in an experimental blood bond then?"

"Cass! What have I said about experimenting on- oh, never mind. Daniel, no blood bonds. Helen, you're positively lovely and we'd be happy to actually force you to stick around forever but, really, it's 1981 and I would like to think we are _all_ a bit more progressive than that." Marius shot his sister a much aggrieved look, and she smiled innocently in return.

Helen pointedly ignored the rabbit hole their conversation had rapidly dove into. "So, Yule? I do have more fun facts, but…."

"Ah yes, Yule. Your initial comments were quite right my dear. Yule is a time of rebirth and celebration. Even muggles have customarily understood the importance of Yule in restarting the calendar year. For magicals there is an additional, even more important aspect: Yule is the time to refresh your magic."

"But not all witches and wizards celebrate Yule anymore, right? I read that most muggleborns and half bloods celebrate muggle holiday variations instead. How does that affect their magic? Is that why Pure bloods are so snotty? And-,"

"My god," Agnes murmured into her wine glass, "There's two of them. Lord help us all."

"Wonderful questions!" Cassiopeia said, cheerfully ignoring her sister in law. "Not only do muggleborns and half bloods now focus on muggle holidays, but many of the old families have also fallen out of touch with wizarding traditions such as Yule. I don't think Cygnus' family, for example, has ever properly celebrated any holiday other than to host a ball. Yet despite this, no one has lost their magic and Bellatrix, at least, was once quite a strong practitioner. Can you think of why?"

There was a moment of silence and then, much to Helen's surprise, Daniel spoke up. "Does it have something to do with intent? Helen keeps saying that intent is the key to magic. She literally painted the word all over the nursery last weekend."

(All over may have been a slight exaggeration, but Helen had indeed stenciled 'intent' in a single looping border around the nursery walls. In her defense, she had gone a bit heavy on mimosas at brunch that morning. To her credit, this would one day be incredibly beneficial for her child.)

"Precisely, my boy, precisely so. The old holidays were created to focus our entire family's intent on growing, strengthening, and purifying our magic. That much intent, when combined with the traditional sacrifices, is the main purpose of Yule in particular. We celebrate not only the upcoming season but the intent that binds us all together in magic or in life or in blood. Many of the muggle holidays push practitioners towards similar intents."

"What do you meant Aunt Cassie? I can't think of how-,"

"When I was last in Africa for a project, I found myself working alongside a devout Jewish bloke who explained that his family's focused intent during Hanukkah- which is near the same time of year as Yule- is to celebrate the cleansing and rebuilding of a sacred temple that has been defiled. Hanukkah literally means dedication. Do you see the parallels, where his family's magic could be purified but in a different way?"

"That's merely one of hundreds of religions though- besides, can you really compare a pagan religion to a monotheistic one? I feel like that's not necessarily alright." Agnes protested (her mother, rest her soul, had been a devout Irish Catholic).

Cassiopeia shrugged. "I'm a researcher, not a theologian- please take my analogies with a grain of salt. Would you prefer me to use yourself as an example?"

"Wait, what?"

"As a Catholic, you celebrate Christmas near the same time of year as Yule. You celebrate the birth- note that word in particular- of Jesus who was born to purify- that word too- the worlds and peoples' hearts. The intent is similar, is my understanding."

Agnes fell thoughtfully silent, finishing off her wine as she considered the possibilities of Cassiopeia's implications and mentally compared it to the winter traditions of a half dozen of her more diverse friends. Finally: "I suppose I do follow your thought process, even if it still isn't sitting quite right with me."

"Fair enough." The pair blinked at one another briefly before Cassiopeia turned back to her nephew and niece-in-law. "Now, because so many magicals do have a way of focusing their intent outside of Yule at this time of year, most of our population is able to begin the new year with at least mostly cleansed personal magic. Even people who don't celebrate _any_ of the religious holidays acknowledge New Year, and that minor observance benefits them greatly. However, personal magic is only the first part."

"Personal magic?"

The Black twins shared a particular Look.

"Your personal magic, and how much of it there is, determines if you are a magical or a muggle," Marius said carefully. "It is uniquely yours until you die, as opposed to family magic, which is what determines if you are a muggle or a squib."

"But then-,"

"This is all unnecessarily confusing, isn't it?" Cassiopeia's brow creased in irritation- there was nothing worse than a bad teacher, and she would not allow herself to be considered one. "Pip!"

The little elf appeared behind her mistress with a sharp pop! "Yes, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"My caseboard?"

Pip snapped her long fingers and the case board appeared at the center of the room with a slightly softer crack! of noise. "Is that being all, Missy Cassiopeia?"

Cassiopeia glanced from Agnes' empty wine glass to her own. "Another round of wine, I think, and perhaps biscuits. For the child, of course."

Pip heaved a great sigh so disapproving that Violetta Black herself would have been jealous. "Pip is being a betting elf, but Pip is still not taking that bad of a bet."

* * *

One hour, two plates of biscuits (only three of which baby Hermione had consumed before falling into a sugar coma on the settee near her parents), and three sketches on the white board later and all of the Grangers finally understood Yule at least as well as Marius.

Standing in the center of the sitting room by the white board, Helen smacked the top drawing of a misshapen log with one finger. "Yule."

"Yes," chorused the rest of the group.

Following the two lines that descended from the log, Helen tapped first a smiley stick figure and second a small grouping of serious stick figures. "Personal magic, family magic. Personal magic lets you actually use magic. Family magic is all of your ancestor's magic in its purest form with a lot of boosts from thousands of years of intent being pushed into it."

"Well-," said Cassiopeia.

"Yes," said the rest of the group, and Marius reached over to elbow his twin.

"Ok, fine, mostly," Cassiopeia muttered. "But really there's so much more-,"

Helen had already moved on. She tapped the words 'basic intent' which had been scrawled above the line connecting the log and the solitary stick figure. "Any intent focused around cleaning, purification, birth/rebirth, new life, etc. will work to filter your personal magic at or near the winter equinox with variable effect."

"Yes," said most of the group.

"Close enough," sighed an aggrieved Cassiopeia.

Helen next tapped a slash mark that had been drawn through the line connecting the Yule log to the small group of stick figures. "Basic intent is NOT enough to cleanse family magic near the winter equinox, because family magic is picky and requires a lot more attention."

"Ancestors are picky, yes." Marius agreed wholeheartedly (Agnes made a mental note to call his therapist when they got home).

"So when we, personally, celebrate Yule, we are strengthening not only the Black family's magic but also Cassiopeia's standing with the ancestors and her ability to use their magic for good instead of evil?"

Marius made a pained face. "A bit dramatic, but we did just have to spend twenty minutes discussing Bellatrix's life choices, so yes. Sure. Let's go with that."

"So when _is_ Yule?" Daniel asked, and when confronted by the blank faces staring back at him, continued, "Obviously the winter equinox isn't on the same day every year. So when is Yule this year?"

For the first time since the Grangers had begun muggle-ifying her explanation of the importance of cleaning and building up one's magic, Cassiopeia smiled. "Tomorrow. That's why I brought you all here today- we need to prepare."

* * *

_December 22, 1981 (_ _Yule)_

_Chateau Black, France_

"I'm not saying that it isn't extremely convenient to celebrate your family's holiday a few days before we celebrate with my parents- after all, we both know Hermione gets crabby when she doesn't get a nap in two days in a row." Helen Granger glanced down at the bouncing toddler in her lap and flinched preemptively. "But I am saying that I don't think we should keep our two worlds _totally_ separated."

"Love, there's literally an International Statute of Secrecy that would disagree with you." Daniel peeked his head out from the bathroom attached to their assigned guest rooms (rooms, because no proper Black residence included anything less spectacular than full guest suites with a personal sitting room, bedchamber and bath) and raised a single dark brow. "So I'm not sure I follow."

"I just really think that we should have Aunt Cassie join us on Christmas. Your parents already come over after we open presents with mine, why not add to the mix? I hate to think of anyone alone on Christmas."

"I hardly think she'd feel lonely- for starters, there's her house elf- but also, why would she mind being alone on Christmas if she doesn't celebrate it?" Daniel dropped to his knees in front of his wife. "And also, could you fix my hair? It absolutely refuses to stay down."

Carefully working her fingers through the poof, Helen frowned. "Well, I still think we ought to invite her. What do you think my little lamb? Should we have Aunt Cassie over for Christmas?"

Hermione reached out to undo her mother's work, fisting her tiny fingers through her father's curls. "More presents! Yay Christmas!"

Daniel snorted. "Well, I guess that settles that."

* * *

At precisely the same moment in time that Sirius Black found himself stuck on his crossword puzzle ("they come in last", 3 letters), Cassiopeia Black was leading a small procession made up of the Grangers, a highly anxious Pollux, a still-smug Alphard, and Andromeda Tonks' little family through the halls of Chateau Black towards the conservatory.

(Cygnus has rejected his invitation upon realizing that his attendance was requested rather than required, and the remaining Blacks had elected to spend Yule with the families they had married into. It should be noted, however, that Narcissa made a point to owl Cassiopeia and explain that next year, when the annual Malfoy Yule Ball resumed, she would invite the entirety of the family to attend.)

"Plants are important for sympathetic magic," Andromeda explained to both her wide eyed daughter and the toddler who had been following her around since their arrival. "We respect the plants by bringing them and helping them survive through the harshest months, and they thank us by sharing their life force with us come spring."

"Life force?"

"Fruits, vegetables- the things that grow on plants. And their magic, too, of course."

Nymphadora looked down at the potted mugwort in her hands. "What's this one give?"

"Mugwort is known for its ability to deepen your intuition- a lot of Seers use it religiously. You know," Cassiopeia paused, glancing over her shoulder speculatively at the pink-headed child. "Seers do run in the family."

"One thought-to-be-forgotten magical attribute per child is enough, thank you," Ted Tonks called dryly from the end of the line where he had been betting on who was most likely to drop their pot with Daniel.

"Dad! I think it would be so totally cool to- uh oh." Nymphadora stared down at the now shattered pot of mugwort.

Pulling out her wand, Andromeda cast a quick Reparo and a cleaning spell. "Probably not a great sign for you being a Seer, dear."

"I might be though- that certainly swung my way," Ted murmured smugly as Daniel slipped him a five pound note.

* * *

Pip silently reviewed her mental checklist as she handed a particularly shaky Helen a glass of water. Opening Yule dance? Check. Sympathetic garden magic? Check. Selection and preparation of the Yule log (more of a tree, really, but Pip felt no need to get technical) for later that evening? Check. Ritual sacrifice? Check. Provide all those with weak stomachs with crackers and water? Now that could be marked off, too.

Clearly, it was time for the feast.

"Pip is now opening the dining room for this evening's guests. You is all best be minding your manners and washing your hands before dinner!" the little elf sent a sharp glance in Alphard's direction as if she fully suspected him in particular of poor nail hygiene.

Laughing easily, Alphard ducked away to the water closet, returning and showing Pip his hands for a full inspection before she led them towards Chateau Black's third largest dining room.

In years past, Pip had only decorated her mistress' private dining space for the Yule feast. There was very little sense in decorating any of the grand dining rooms for a single person and besides, while Pip personally was happy to have Missy Cassiopeia to herself, some might consider the scene a smidge depressing. This year, however, was clearly different- and Pip had gone above and beyond to prove it.

The doors of Chateau Black's third largest dining room swung open before the gathered Blacks (and Grangers and Tonkses) to reveal dozens of closely hung garlands of evergreen, holly, and berries. Several hundred candles of all different sizes floated in the air in shades of gold, red, and white. Heaping mistletoe and sage centerpieces ran the length of the table, in between which fat oranges and pine cones had been stacked in abundance. Pip had even broken out Chateau Black's best crystal for the event- a sun patterned set, conveniently enough- and had filled the large goblets with honey mead and cider and punch (depending on the age of the seat's assigned family member).

"And I thought we went hard for Christmas," Helen whispered to her husband, glancing around with delight at the candles before catching sight of the fully cooked and ready to carve boar at the head of the table. "Wait- didn't we just sacra-,"

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answer to," Ted Tonks recommended quietly behind her, and poked his young daughter between the shoulder blades. "Looks like the little suns are name plates, Dora- fancy figuring out where we all sit for us?"

Torn between self-importance at the task and irritation with the use of her first name, Nymphadora hurried to read the first placard with Hermione hot on her heels. Looking at them together, even Cassiopeia smiled.

"Cousins as cousins should be, don't you think?"

* * *

When they gathered outside for the grand finale of their Yule celebration, Cassiopeia stopped in front of the ceremonial stone fire pit and looked back and forth between the small circle of shivering family members and the Yule log they had built together.

The giant log had been covered with all manner of greenery, ribbons, spices, and thin tapered candles- Alphard had even cheekily added a gold galleon from his pockets, which caught the moonlight and threw shimmering reflections across the ground. It was, she had to admit, particularly beautiful. In a completely unbiased way, of course.

Taking a deep breath, Cassiopeia turned back to address them all. "As you all know, I am a very new Materfamilias. You will find that holidays, and the growth of our magic at each, is of the utmost importance to me- as are all of you. I want to end this season by focusing on the depth of my appreciation for each of you, and what you have contributed to our family."

Pausing, Cassiopeia glanced towards the moon as if the sky alone could understand her discomfort voicing such emotions. As she closed her eyes and focused, the nine Blacks (and Grangers and Tonkses) around her felt tingling warmth sliding down their spine like hot water. Cassiopeia's appreciation was tangible indeed.

"Now, I am excited to look towards the next season- as we cleanse and amplify our magic together today, we will set the foundation for a full year in the sun. A year of growth, of coming together closer as a family, of reviving our house." Isla had pre-approved the entire speech, of course, and given particular instructions for how to end it. Remembering this, Cassiopeia was careful to make eye contact with each family member (even the baby, Isla had absolutely insisted) before carefully feeding their Yule log into the fire. "Happy Yule!"

As the log caught flame, the stars themselves seemed to dim in light of the more earthly fire's brilliance. Suddenly, a fierce pulse of purple and gold magic flashed outward from the now crackling log, sweeping around the family and caressing each person with a gust of hot air.

"That was-,"

Cassiopeia nodded. "Our family magic."

"That was-,"

Daniel cut his wife off with a kiss straight on the mouth. His eyes were a bit dilated and his movements loose and languid. "Wife, enjoy it! I do think we need to finish this celebration properly, don't you lot?"

Laughing, Marius slapped his son on the back before turning to beam at his twin. "What say, Cass? Plenty more ale and we'll all go wassailing?"

"Pip! A round for everyone at once!"


	37. Swim

**A/N:** Quick thank you for all the reviews and kindness on this site, as well as a note of appreciation for AndrewWolf who has commented with some delightful knowledge on several chapters- including an extremely helpful note on winter solstice, Yule, and time zones (I did laugh for a solid thirty minutes when I realized that for all my research, I forgot completely about time zones). Hope you all have a great week!

* * *

_December 23, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

_4:00 am_

Minerva McGonagall was quite the morning person- always had been, though it could be argued she had reached Peak Early Bird Status during her years as Gryffindor's overly enthusiastic Quidditch team captain. Several decades later, she still began each day the same way: extensive warming charms followed by laps in the Great Lake, an hour or more of brisk calisthenics in her personal quarters, and a quiet cup of tea before heading on down to breakfast.

Typically, this routine went both unobserved and undisturbed (obsessive Quidditch captains had become unpopular after Headmaster Dippet threatened to remove the sport entirely if any more athletes snored through their classes). However, two days into winter break and she found herself feeling particularly…. Hounded.

"Why, good morning Minerva!"

Gritting her teeth, Minerva resisted the urge to tell the Headmaster exactly where he could shove his cheery good morning and instead turned to pull the portrait shut behind her. "You've decided to join me for my swim again this morning, Albus?"

"Oh, certainly- something positively refreshing about throwing oneself into the Great Lake before breakfast I've realized. And really Minerva, it has been so lovely to catch up with you."

Minerva, who had found throwing herself in the lake with company to be much less refreshing than throwing herself in the lake alone, smiled. "Certainly. It's certainly been… Well. Shall we?"

As they strode down the stairs towards the front doors of the castle, Minerva considered the conversations they had had over the past several mornings. Typically they began with current students (the incident with Miss Delliopod and the Hellscape Pea Pod had yet to be resolved), moved on to past students (it really was amazing what a fountain of gossip the old Headmaster could be), and trailed into past students' offspring.

Dumbledore was nothing if not subtle.

Their routine had ended the same way each morning- Minerva storming up the beach in a right state after rejecting one of Dumbledore's weakly given excuses about why Harry Potter must be returned to the Dursley's at once. "Honestly, Albus! I will not accept anything other than the truth- if you want to know where that little boy is, then you'd best start speaking in plain words."

Today seemed to be no different- they had agreed that Miss Delliopod might very well be a lost cause and that Kingsley Shacklebolt's promotion was well deserved before they even made it to the lake, and when Dumbledore set about mentioning Molly and Arthur Weasley's latest addition to the family (a girl at last!) Minerva mentally began preparing her next verbal assault.

"You know, I expect that the Weasley children would have been close friends of little Harry Potter's in another life."

Ah, there it was.

"Both very nice families- but not close, I don't think, outside of the Order. Quite the age gap there." Minerva did some quick mental math. "Molly and Arthur graduated in '69, and Lily and James in '78."

"What's a little thing like age between friends?" Dumbledore grinned and held out his hand to take Minerva's robe and hang it on his hastily transfigured coat rack. "They were in the Order together, at least."

"True enough, though they didn't work together often. I'm sure their children will meet at school irregardless of what may have been- I'm hard pressed to imagine a Potter or a Weasley in anything but Gryffindor." Minerva allowed herself one self-deprecating look over her shoulder before wading into the water. "Morganna help us when they all descend upon the school."

Laughing heartily, Dumbledore cast another strong warming charm and followed her. "So you _will_ allow Mr. Potter to attend Hogwarts then?"

"Pardon?"

"You've been so determined to keep him hidden away- I wondered if you'd keep him from magic his whole life."

"Keep him away from magic? The child is currently being exposed to more magic than he ever was with _those people_!" Minerva spluttered, pausing in her movement to stare incredulously at Dumbledore. "Albus, are we really doing this _again_?"

"Minerva, I hate to point this out, but I _am_ technically the boy's legal magical guardian as of now- I could have charges pressed against you for failure to procure him. I would hate to do it, of course, but-,"

"How?"

"How, what?"

"How did you become Harry Potter's legal magic guardian? I was under the impression that the first choices for guardian were rendered ineligible and that the Potters' will was locked away before the court could determine anything further."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled even more brightly, and Minerva threw herself back into the water and began swimming laps in order to avoid the piercing gaze seeking her own. Calmly: "I hardly could have closed the will without proper legal approval, Minerva. And you do know how close I was to the Potter family."

Silent as she swam, Minerva considered this. On the one hand, it made sense. Dumbledore was close with the Potters- he would want what was best for them, and he did indeed have the proper legal authority to close the will. A month ago she would have laughed and agreed with him- agreed that she was being paranoid and interfering unnecessarily.

But this was not a month ago, and instead of laughing, Minerva remained silent as she contemplated what would need to be done to unlock the Potters' will. To ensure that Harry Potter was cared for properly. To get to the bottom of whatever it was that was going on.

_Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back._

"Rest assured, Albus- Harry Potter will attend Hogwarts in full health if I have anything to say about it," she finally said as she lapped him, firmly avoiding the original statement. "In the meantime, I would love to see another proposal for his care from you. Perhaps you and I could reach an agreement before 1982."

* * *

_2:00 pm (14:00)_

Minerva had rather expected Albus to present a verbal proposal to her the next morning- had, in fact, engaged a slightly unwilling Filius to listen in on their conversation despite the 'ungodly hour' it would be taking place. As such, she was a bit surprised to look up from her tea and discover Fawkes, a parchment in his talons and his tiny head cocked curiously.

"Goodness! You couldn't knock, I suppose?"

The bird bobbed his head and trilled a brief note of apology that left the Deputy Headmistress feeling just a bit less tense than she had been before. Grabbing the parchment, she ran a single finger over Fawkes' brightly colored wing. "I know he means well, but really- what do you think of all this?"

Either unwilling to discuss his master or apathetic towards the topic, Fawkes simply stared at her until, sighing, Minerva ceased her gentle petting. "I'll review now. He can visit my office before bed time to discuss it."

* * *

_8:30 pm (20:30)_

Albus Dumbledore had not been summoned to a teacher's office in decades- several of them, in fact. As a boy, he had rarely been in trouble. As a teacher, he had made a point to send out invitations to tea in his own quarters- friendlier, it always seemed. More recently, as Headmaster, he preferred to call his teachers up to his own office where they remained ever so slightly unsettled by the hundreds of ticking, chiming, and chirping gadgets he kept displayed. It had always felt more professional- and certainly it gave him the sense of home ground.

As such, Dumbledore paused in the hallway for a long moment of discomfited silence before lifting his hand and rapping sharply on Professor McGonagall's office doors.

"Come on in, Albus!"

This office had, of course, once been Dumbledore's. He had passed it on to his favorite mentee gladly, much the same way he intended to one day pass on the Headmaster's office (and all of the permanently stuck ticking, chirping objects he had decorated it with). However, it was now a far different space than the luxurious neo classical haven Dumbledore had designed for himself so many years ago.

Gone were the grey and cream upholstered chairs and couches, simply carved tables and chairs, and muted portraits. It had all been replaced with oversized leather chairs that one could melt into, red flannel couches, and the type of heavy, sturdy furniture that typically outlived its original owner by three centuries or more. Instead of decorating with magically silenced portraits, Minerva had hung hundreds of shelves to display prized books, photos of old students and family members, and trophies (currently including the House Cup).

A tad nonplussed by the positively patriotic coziness of it all, Dumbledore carefully settled onto one of the heavy leather chairs before the desk and attempted to avoid being sucked into it forever. "I've asked the elves to send up tea, I do hope you don't mind."

"Not at all- I expected it. I know you can't get to bed without a bit of tea and brandy, and we may as well celebrate while the students are gone."

"Perfect. You had a chance to review my proposal then? I do believe-,"

Minerva dropped a pristinely pressed piece of parchment onto her desk and steepled her fingers. "This is quite literally the worst written proposal I have read in twenty-five years."

"Surely not."

"No, really. Twenty-five years, Albus. And my subject requires more essays than most," the Deputy Headmistress insisted sincerely. "Honestly, the Prewett twins' essay about why dueling in the halls should be encouraged was less nonsensical."

Dumbledore chuckled, eyes twinkling as he glanced towards a photo of the brash Prewett twins' graduating class. "They did raise several good points- Alastor himself was a proponent of their desire to install 'constant vigilance' into the school populace."

"Yes, but Alastor Moody is an Auror whose institution's goal is keeping it's trainees alive. We are teachers whose institution's goal is instilling a love of learning and magic. Dueling-,"

"Is merely another application of that love we instill."

"If we could keep a Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher for more than five minutes, it would be." Minerva shook her head and swiveled in her seat to look at the high wall behind her, decorated with portraits of the Gryffindor classes she had shepherded through Hogwarts since 1956. Each photo featured the current staff behind the graduates- and in the most recent dozen portraits, there was a new face in the Defense Against the Dark Arts position in each photo.

"Quite the curse we have, isn't it?"

(Minerva eyed Albus speculatively, tempted for the hundredth time that year alone to demand an explanation of _how_ , precisely, any such curse had come about. Even the students knew the position was cursed, and yet not one Curse Breaker had ever been brought onsite to investigate.)

"Not nearly as punishing as what you would have punished little Harry Potter with- he was sleeping in a cupboard, Albus."

"Perhaps they were remodeling his bedroom?"

"Albus, you are entirely too smart to provide me with such meaningless excuses. You are also entirely too smart to think I am going to agree to put that boy back in an abusive- yes, Albus, I did say abusive- household just because they're his closest living relations."

"His _last_ living relations- Minerva, everyone deserves the opportunity to have family. And while things may have appeared rough, surely they would have grown to love him."

"You assume he wouldn't have died of neglect first! Albus- _use plain language or get out_!"

"Erm, Jangle has brought the tea as requested?"

Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress whirled as one to stare at the small elf who had appeared balancing a large tea tray on her head.

"Ah, thank you Jangle! Just in time, I'd say." Using his wand to levitate the tray onto Minerva's desk between them- a subtle reminder that while it was now Minerva's office, they were still in _his_ school- Dumbledore smiled at the little elf before waving a hand dismissively. "Brandy, or tea, or both?"

The pair made up their own cups- Minerva was wary to let anyone else pour for her during an argument, even an old friend- and settled into a fairly awkward silence as they waited for the other to either apologize or begin.

Finally, Dumbledore took a deep breath. The twinkle in his eye dimmed as he studied his transfiguration professor. "What do you understand of blood wards?"

"Only as much as I've read- we don't teach them anymore."

"Some of the books remain in the library- and apparently Lily Evans checked them out at least once before doing research on her own. When she gave up her life to protect Harry, she somehow activated old magic that wards the boy against those who would try to harm him. Old magic that is tied to her blood."

Minerva truly didn't know much about blood wards, but she knew enough to realize that Dumbledore was leaving out at least one step. "Morganna, Albus- you used Lily's blood to set wards around her sister's home?"

"It was the only way I could safeguard the one bit of familial protection that the boy had left- even if we assume Voldemort is gone forever, there are plenty of Death Eaters still searching for him."

Minerva paused. "If?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Minerva, I know how strongly you feel about divination- I wasn't going to include any reference to it in my report."

"If?"

"There was no body found, Minerva. You must understand- if we go further in this conversation, you must be sworn to the highest level of security possible."

"If, Albus? You've encouraged public celebrations for weeks and now you want to discuss there being an 'if'?"

"The public is better off not knowing, Minerva- they need hope, and they need celebration. Who knows how long it will last after all."

Minerva poured another two thimbles of brandy into her tea. "So let me get this right. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named _might_ not be dead forever, according to something that has to do with divination- which, I might remind you, is the least precise magic in existence. You thought a toddler should live in an abusive household surrounded by blood wards from his dead mother to be safe from some potential threat in the future?"

Sighing heavily, Dumbledore stood from his chair and moved to stare out the window. "Harry Potter must be kept with Lily's family for his own sake, and for the sake of every other child in Britain as well- he is the Chosen One. Prophecy says he will one day destroy what is left of Voldemort."

Minerva snorted loudly, draining the last of her cup. "Pull the other one, Albus."

Turning back to face her, Dumbledore palmed his wand from the sleeve of his robes into his hand and shook his head in irritation. "I had hoped that changing the setting of the conversation would be enough to make you see sense- apparently not. We'll just have to try again tomorrow. I do hope you have a lovely remainder of your evening, Minerva."

"Albus, what-?"

" _Obliviate_!"

* * *

_December 24, 1981_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland_

_4:00 am_

Minerva McGonagall was quite the morning person- always had been, though it could be argued she had reached Peak Early Bird Status during her years as Gryffindor's overly enthusiastic Quidditch team captain. Several decades later, she still began each day the same way: extensive warming charms followed by laps in the Great Lake, an hour or more of brisk calisthenics in her personal quarters, and a quiet cup of tea before heading on down to breakfast.

Typically, this routine went both unobserved and undisturbed. However, three days into winter break and she found herself feeling particularly…. Hounded.

"Why, good morning Minerva!"

Gritting her teeth, Minerva resisted the urge to tell the Headmaster exactly where he could shove his cheery good morning and instead turned to pull the portrait shut behind her. "You've decided to join me for my swim again this morning, Albus?"

"Oh, certainly- something positively refreshing about throwing oneself into the Great Lake before breakfast I've realized. And really Minerva, it has been so lovely to catch up with you."

Minerva, who had found throwing herself in the lake with company to be much less refreshing than throwing herself in the lake alone, smiled. "Certainly. It's certainly been… Well. Shall we?"

* * *

_11:00 am_

"Minerva, I'm not quite sure if you just intended to torture me with the early wake up call or if that simply did not go the way you expected, but I didn't discern anything of value from your conversation this morning. Certainly not anything regarding Harry Potter."

"This morning? Why, Filius, I had planned to ask you if you would listen in tomorrow- he's only promised to submit me a proposal today!"

Filius Flitwick frowned, watching Minerva as she hurried along down the hall towards the owlery. He'd thought she seemed odd- just a bit off- for the past two weeks. He'd frankly been relieved when she'd asked him to listen in on one of her shared workouts with the Headmaster. Now, however...

An owl was polite, but too easily intercepted. A patronus was too easily overheard.

Filius was simply going to have to crash his old friend's tea the second he could slip away for the day.


	38. Christmas Eve

_December 24, 1981_

_Chateau Black_

Rita Skeeter felt the same way about muggle holidays that most witches felt about garden gnomes: they were an inconvenient interruption to normal life that only a true eccentric could appreciate.

It was fair to say that no one alive would describe her as jolly or merry during the month of December- but she was certainly bright. Bright enough to realize that despite her life long disgust for all things tinsel and garland, holiday pieces sold papers like crazy. Especially heart warming ones.

(It was enough to make her physically sick- literally, when she heard carolers. Couldn't people just _go to work_ and _do their jobs_ and stick to sacrificing goats for fun?)

Burdened by this knowledge- ignorance truly is bliss when you are too ambitious to turn down any hint of opportunity- Rita had begrudgingly answered Cassiopeia Black's summons to a Christmas Eve tea.

"The reporter will be following Pip to the winter conservatory now," squeaked the house elf who had greeted her in front of the fireplace, turning at once and heading down the long carpeted hall.

Rita swallowed a grimace, brushing soot off the skirts of her formal robes as she followed. _Winter conservatory, really?_ The Blacks were going to make her quite a lot of money- already had, based on the _Daily Prophet'_ s sales of issues that spoke of them- but it was incredibly hard for Rita to actually _like_ them. They were entirely too-

The house elf swung open a set of wooden double doors carved with snowflakes and hunting qiqirn, and Rita's thoughts crashed to a halt. Whatever outdated snowscape she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't _this!_

The room itself was circular, with tapered walls leading up to a pointed ceiling. Unlike a normal conservatory (with its clear glass and opening window panes), the ceiling appeared to be made completely of some thick, bluish green ice that radiated an unnaturally eerie light. Thousands of blue bell flames lined the walls, contained in iridescent icy votives. Massive evergreens grew throughout the room in three lapping circles (Rita, who had once loved Ancient Runes classes, was fairly certain there was an important pattern in their placement). Each tree had been decorated with bright lights, shining baubles, long flowing ribbons, and bells.

In the center of it all, a fairly small gilded rococo-esque table had been set up with tea for not two, but five.

_Another surprise, then._ At least this time Rita easily recognized all the players in the game.

Cassiopeia Black dipped her head graciously. "Miss Skeeter, ever so glad you could join us for such a last minute occasion."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you. I was quite surprised to hear that the Black family celebrated any muggle holidays." A sickly sweet smile plastered on her face, Rita allowed the house elf to help her scoot in her chair and crossed one ankle gracefully behind the other.

"Oh, we don't- not traditionally." Narcissa Malfoy said with a laugh like tinkling bells. "However, times change and families grow. Miss Skeeter, have you met my sister?"

Rita, who considered Narcissa a very powerful occasional ally, was not quite sure how to answer that. Up until two months ago, it would have been easy enough to assume that the correct response was a disdainful sniff and possibly a few veiled muggleborn insults. Now, however….

Rumor had it the pair had been taking tea.

"I'm not sure that we've been formally introduced," the reporter settled on.

"Wonderful, I'll do a round of introductions then- Andromeda, this is Miss Rita Skeeter. She's a wonderfully ambitious reporter from the _Daily Prophet_ and was a member of our house at Hogwarts. Miss Skeeter, this is my elder sister Madam Andromeda Tonks nee Black. She's an acclaimed memory magic specialist, and her husband is one of the reasons my dear Aunty has decided to celebrate Christmas this year.

"Pleasure," Rita murmured.

"Certainly."

"Will you take tea before you begin taking notes, Miss Skeeter?" Isla Calderon wandlessly levitated the teapot towards the reporter, leaving it hovering over her empty cup.

"Please- no milk or sugar, just the tea."

Isla raised a single brow. "Strong tastes."

Rita's responding smile was challenging. "You've no idea."

"I'm sure you already remember my rule about quills due to the possibility of stains, Miss Skeeter?" Cassiopeia asked innocently from behind a biscuit.

Irritated as she realized that her Quick Notes Quill would once again collect dust through a meeting, Rita nodded sharply. "I'll be borrowing one again then, begging your pardon."

"No worries- Pip!"

A sharp snap! and the house elf reappeared, a ridiculously large quill in one hand and an extra tray of biscuits in the other. "Missy Cassiopeia is ready for her special quill?"

"Quite- right in front of Miss Skeeter, that will do. Are those more of the same or a new kind of biscuit?" Cassiopeia leaned eagerly towards the platter as if trying to sniff the biscuits from afar.

"They is being a new biscuit- Pip was trying out fruitcake biscuits. They is having fruit, so maybe they is not being as bad for Pip's mistress." The house elf looked as if she wasn't quite certain of her own logic on this one, but determinedly held out the platter nonetheless. "Missy will be liking them."

Snatching one off the plate in a motion that seemed almost dangerously fast for a woman of her age, Cassiopeia sunk her teeth into the biscuit. After a long moment, she swallowed and grinned. "Delightful, Pip- keep it up. I'll be taking the rest of these."

"Is Missy Cassiopeia wanting these cookies included in the packages for all of the children?"

"Oh, certainly yes. Actually no. Actually, only if you're making them a batch of their own," Cassiopeia finally decided, and then waved one hand. "If that's all, Pip..."

Bowing, the elf snapped and disappeared with a sharp crack!

"Now, where were we? Ah yes, Miss Skeeter. Would you like to begin by asking questions?"

"Certainly- my first, if you'll excuse my ongoing curiosity, is what children you're sending packages to?"

Unseen by Rita, Isla and Narcissa smiled broadly into their teacups as the bait was taken.

Casually, Cassiopeia reached for another biscuit and smiled broadly. "As Narcissa mentioned briefly, the Black's do not traditionally celebrate any of the muggle holidays. Instead, we stick with the wizarding Wheel of the Year. However, times are changing, and we must change with them in order to embrace the newest members of our family such as Ted Tonks- Andromeda's husband- or even Lily Potter, had she lived. I decided to send Christmas packages to all of the children under 18 in the family as a way to bring us all together."

Rita's eyes gleamed- _Lily Potter?_ Oh, papers were going to sell alright. "So you've a way to get packages to _all of them_ , then?"

Cassiopeia and Isla traded a brief glance, and then Cassiopeia smiled broadly. "That's quite right. Every single child that I have any claim to as Materfamilias will receive a Christmas present from me this year."

* * *

_December 25, 1981_

_Daily Prophet Special Edition_

**Yule AND Christmas? Black Materfamilias Seeks To Embrace New And Old Traditions**

_Article by Rita Skeeter_

Everyone knows the Black family motto: Toujours Pur. Translated directly from Latin to mean "always pure", most of the wizarding world has assumed for decades that it refers to the Black family's dedication to being- and staying- traditional blood purists.

But dear readers, what I have learned may change your mind.

When I sat down for a Christmas Eve tea with new Materfamilias Madam Cassiopeia Black, she explained that per the family's original teachings "always pure" has nothing to do with blood at all. Instead, it has everything to do with magic.

I was, of course, quite skeptical of this. After all, disregarding the Black family's movements in recent months, they were notorious followers of You-Know-Who in the Blood War and were known for pushing traditionalist policies in the Wizengamot in the preceding years. Besides, how does one equate 'pure' and 'magic'?

Madam Black's response was clear proof of both her eccentricity and her expansive education garnered over years as one of the world's most renowned researchers: "Magic is a gift that only a very small percentage of our population has been blessed with. How that gift can be used, where that gift comes from- this research is vital for our magical civilization. The Black family has been at the forefront of magical research since our establishment in wizarding Britain several hundred years ago, and that is why our motto is 'always pure'- we always focus on magic in its purest form, where it has the largest number of capabilities and is most malleable."

Dear readers, for your sake I have spent many hours investigating to determine if this claim is true or not- and to my surprise, history does seem to back Madam Black's statements up. Indeed, the Black family's magical research has been recorded throughout our history books as instrumental to many of the theories still taught at Hogwarts today- and as recently as 1847, successful research papers proofread and peer reviewed by Black family members were signed off with, 'The magic here is pure'.

However, even if the Black family is not as dedicated to blood purity as many of us have believed, why on earth are they celebrating a so clearly muggle holiday as Christmas this year? They remain dedicated traditionalists- Madam Black herself even acknowledged celebrating the Wheel of the Year. This, dear readers, weighed heavily on my mind as I began asking questions of not only Madam Black, but several other notable family members as well: namely, Narcissa Malfoy nee Black and Andromeda Tonks nee Black (see page 13 for details of Madam Tonks' reinstatement on the family tree).

"Frankly, this is not the first time my family has celebrated Christmas- in fact, I have every year since I was married, " Madam Tonks confided. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to be sharing combining new and old traditions this year- with my husband as well as Cassiopeia's twin brother Marius in the fold, it is sure to be quite joyous."

My dear readers, you will be understandably shocked by this next quote from Madam Malfoy herself: "We are looking forward to ensuring this new generation understands the importance of appreciating cultures different from their own. As we raise our children together, we seek to set a positive example for the rest of wizarding kind." Yes, my dears, you read correctly- the woman famous for a pure blood only guest list for her Yule parties has indeed opened her heart (and supposedly home!) to people who she once looked down on. "I believe education is incredibly important to lowering barriers- we can hardly be surprised that muggles and muggleborns are not embracing our traditions when they aren't taught them at school. I do hope an initiative will be taken in the coming years that helps bring us all together for occasions just like this one."

So what celebrations are happening exactly?

Just a few short days ago, a limited group of the Blacks gathered at Chateau Black and celebrated Yule. The group included not only Madam Black, but her young heir and, more surprisingly, Madam Black's squib brother and his family. Madam Tonks and her muggleborn husband were also in attendance with their young daughter. My research suggests that these are the first ever Yule celebrations to intentionally include muggles or squibs. Certainly, this was the first Black family celebration to include a muggleborn.

"Times are changing, and we must change with them in order to embrace the newest members of our family such as Andromeda's husband Ted Tonks, or my twin brother's lovely wife, or even Lily Potter, had she lived. These people may not be Black's by blood, but we claim them and their offspring as ours." Madam Black explained. "And after they celebrated Yule with us, we could hardly miss the opportunity to celebrate one of their traditions with them- namely, Christmas."

Madam Black had a lovely Christmas Eve dinner planned for the entire family after our tea, which rumor has it was highly attended and included a wizard dressed as the muggle character 'Santa Claus'. She additionally sent out Christmas care packages to all of the family members under the age of 18 containing small gifts, traditional biscuits, and toys.

Dear readers, you may be wondering who this list includes- after all, there are very few young Blacks around anymore. This reporter has done her due diligence to ensure you are in the list includes: Nymphadora Vulpecula Tonks, Hermione Black (Black family heir), Draco Black Malfoy, and Harry James Potter.

I did, of course, ask repeatedly if Madam Black was quite sure that all packages would be delivered (the public still remains unaware of the Chosen One's location). Madam Black had this to say, "Every single one of our family's children will be opening a package on Christmas morning- I've used quite a bit of magic to make sure of it."

And readers, I would be willing to bet (based on what we have seen so far) that "the magic here is pure."


	39. Content

_December 25, 1981_

_Chateau Black_

At precisely 8 am, Pip appeared with a quiet _pop_! to open the heavy brocade curtains in her mistress' bedroom. Turning to begin the laborious process of motivating the Black Matriarch out of bed, the little elf let out a high pitched squeal of alarm.

"Missy Cassiopeia! What is being the matter?!"

Cassiopeia raised both eyebrows in bemusement from her spot propped amongst the pillows. "Really now, Pip. I _have_ woken up on my own before."

"The last time Missy Cassiopeia was waking up on her own, she was deciding to take over the whole family!" Pip accused, hands on hips and long nose pointed in the air.

"Well, I suppose that isn't an inaccurate statement- fortunately, I've no new families to take over, far as I know."

Throwing back the covers and swinging out of bed, Cassiopeia allowed Pip to fussily bundle her into her thickest winter housecoat. Her brow furrowed as she stared thoughtfully out the new open windows at the snow covered grounds below. "Though maybe you're onto something Pip. Because something in the air is telling me that it is going to be a _particularly_ busy day."

* * *

_December 25, 1981_

_Invermoriston, Scotland_

Isobel McGonagall had raised three babes of her own, had taken active part in the raising all six of her grandchildren- yet she had never encountered a Christmas quite as strange as the one she spent with little Harry Potter.

It had started at breakfast, when the fat nanny kneazle had jumped down from his preferred perch on the back of the little boy's high chair and began staring at the front door with never-before-seen intensity.

"Odd beastie," Isobel sighed, shaking a long handled wooden spoon in the kneazle's direction. "Don't go and expose yourself as bein' strange to the whole family when they arrive, you hear?"

The kneazle shot the briefest affronted glance in her direction before resuming his intense staring at the front door.

Sighing, Isobel turned back to her charge, only to find him staring with equally odd intensity in the same direction. "Och, pay attention to your scran now or you'll never get meat on those bones lad!"

When Harry merely mirrored Pudding's affronted glance, Isobel huffed and resigned herself to taking a minute out of her feverish cooking for Christmas luncheon to investigate whatever was at the front door. Likely some carolers approaching, or perhaps a fruit cake had been dropped on the step- certainly, both cat and toddler had a sweet tooth and a knack for finding treats no matter where she hid them. Perhaps, even, one of the grandchildren or even great grandchildren was arriving early to help out in the-

Swinging the door wide open, Isobel froze in her tracks. Her eyes widened as she took in the iridescent solid sphere hovering in the air at the bottom of the stoop, rimmed in an ethereal purple light.

Behind her, the cat began inching slowly across the floor.

As if it had just been waiting patiently for the door to be opened for it, the orb suddenly began moving directly up the front steps and towards the front door.

"Noo jist haud on!"

The orb, which alternately did not understand her Scottish dialect or which had taken the open door as all the invitation it needed (now rapidly closing door be damned), continued despite her protests. It shot quickly through the narrow gap between door and frame and slowed as if it to get its bearings once in the front entryway. Then, rotating slowly midair, it moved towards the kitchen.

Towards little Harry Potter.

_Minerva was going to send her to a home for sure after this._

"Stop!" Isobel rushed towards the orb, but it had been a very long time since she had attempted (let alone wanted to attempt) such a rapid reaction and her feet caught immediately on the hallway runner. As if in slow motion, Isobel saw herself falling, face first, towards the floor. The orb was still moving... she was going to be too late... she didn't know healing magic, let alone have Skele-Grow laying around... if only she had been-

There was a bright flash of purple light, and Isobel McGonagall was floating. She felt only the slightest bit of pressure as the air itself swept her back onto her feet.

Still strapped into his seat, Harry laughed loudly. "Look kitty!"

The kneazle was indeed looking, alternating between serious looks at the still drifting orb and exasperated looks at his current caretaker. Apparently, the orb took priority because after one final glance over he firmly turned his back on her and followed it down the hallway.

Moving quickly- if much more carefully, now- Isobel hurried after Pudding and moved between the orb and the child. "What is this thing?"

"Mine!"

Careful to keep the orb within eyesight, Isobel half-glanced over her shoulder at Harry, who still looked quite delighted in the wake of his rather powerful (and certainly appreciated) bout of accidental magic. "Did you make that, Harry?"

"No."

"Do you know who made it, then? Do you recognize it?"

Shutting back in on himself a bit and scrunching his shoulders down, Harry stared at her with no answer.

"You're not- wee bairn, you're nae in trouble. Do you ken?" Isobel asked gently, and, feeling quite brave, reached out to touch the orb. If only she could inspect it, or send it to Minerva, or-

It darted just out of her reach.

The kneazle purred loudly, as if chuckling, and Isobel glared at it. "Oh, you think you can do better do you?"

As if in response, Pudding hopped onto the counter, lowered himself into a crouch, and aligned himself with the orb in the air. With a powerful press of his back legs, the nanny kneazle pushed off and launched himself directly at the orb. One powerful paw scooped the solid object from the air and brought it with him as he landed directly on Harry's high chair tray.

"Gonnae no' dae that!" Isobel gasped out as the toddler quickly reached for the orb, but it was entirely too late. All hopes of having the odd Christmas day invader examined thoroughly before being let near the baby vanished as he grasped it firmly in his own hands.

"Mine," the toddler whispered with the same feverish intensity that he'd stared at the front door with only minutes prior. Then, before Isobel could snatch away the potentially dangerous object, he pulled it up over his head and sent it shattering onto the floor, purple smoke pouring out to blind the whole room.

Isobel was a long ways out of Hogwarts, but she was painfully aware of the number of poisons- and in various forms at that- which could be transported in an orb. She was also, oddly, incredibly aware of the oven timer beeping about now burnt biscuits. _Minerva isn't even going to need to put me in a home- I won't make it to one._

However, as the room slowly cleared, Isobel was pleasantly surprised to find that she was not asphyxiating, or turning blue, or bleeding out her ears. Neither were Harry or Pudding (though the kitchen timer was still going off).

Harry had somehow escaped from his high chair and was standing on the kitchen floor surrounded by a small hoard of brightly wrapped and ribbon bedecked boxes of all different shapes and sizes. A smaller orb, this one made of what appeared to be purple bluebell flames, hovered directly over the little boy's heart and as Isobel watched slowly sank into him. The effect was instant- Harry's wild mop of dark hair sparked brightly and a warm glow encased him as if he had suddenly been imbued with a half dozen potions for improved health or spent a month on vacation at the beach.

"Oh, my." Isobel stared in shock as Harry plopped down on his diapered bottom and pulled a wrapped box close to him. "Hold on now- we don't open presents in the kitchen, no matter how they appear."

Popping back up immediately, Harry beamed at her before grabbing the fat kneazle by its neck and fairly sprinting down the hall towards the parlor.

"Oh, I'm carrying these, am I?" Isobel grumbled, then sent a suspicious look towards the pile. "I could still have you investigated, you know."

The boxes gleamed brighter in the light as if to convince her of their total innocence.

It took several tries, during which time Pudding impatiently trotted back and forth as if to ascertain that none of the presents were being done away with, for Isobel to levitate all of the boxes to the front parlor where she had set up the Christmas tree (Harry had quite enjoyed helping decorate it). Finally, wand clutched in her hand and a feeling of dread strong in her stomach, she allowed the child to dig in.

As careful and uncertain as Harry had proven to be with his words and his motions (an ongoing symptom of both the traumatic loss of his parents and his subsequent abusive neglect), Isobel was expecting Harry to be the kind of child who gently peeled off tape and attempted to save the paper.

She had, apparently, forgotten that he was not even two.

Bright red and green and blue and pink paper scraps flew through the air like a small storm as the child ripped and tore and pulled and tugged. Pudding pounced around him, apprehending long velvet strands of ribbon from the air and sinking his fangs into them as if they were particularly unruly garden gnomes. Watching the unlikely pair's eyes gleam at each new offering with unrestrained delight made Isobel smile so hard her own eyes watered.

First came a very, very expensive looking toy broomstick. It was, according to the box Isobel hastened to read, only able to hover a foot or two above the floor and equipped with literally hundreds of cushioning charms.

Remembering Minerva's multitude of Quidditch injuries, the elderly witch groaned and affixed Pudding with a stern look. "You will be the one chasing him on this device, not me."

After the broom came a miniature plush Quidditch set, complete with flight charms. Then a series of wizarding children's books (including an original edition _Babbity Rabbit_ ), three handmade little sets of wizarding robes, a heavy winter cloak, a set of building blocks, and (finally) a ridiculously large plate of varied biscuits.

Isobel confiscated that last item immediately, stopping both toddler and kneazle from their quick attempts to swipe a snack. "Not before lunch, for either of you," she said sternly. "Now Harry love, you can bring your books to the kitchen and I'll read with you while we finish-,"

Suddenly hyper aware of the timer in the kitchen that was _still_ beeping, Isobel blanched. "While we remake Christmas pudding."

* * *

_December 25, 1981_

_Longmoore Street, London_

Alphard Black did not grow up celebrating muggle holidays, but most of his Quodpot teammates certainly had. Despite MACUSA's general disdain for and separation from all things muggle (or no-mag, as the case may be), many witches and wizards still took every possible opportunity to party. And one of those prime opportunities? Christmas.

Alphard had quite a few fond memories involving eggnog with rum and mistletoe, but it was the idea that Christmas was a time for overwhelming good cheer that he had been focusing on for over a week now.

After all, what better medicine for an ex-Azkaban prisoner could there be than an overabundance of cheer and goodwill?

"Sir, Quod is being done with the parlour, and the library, and the halls, and the bedrooms." His personal elf ticked off his fingers as he counted off the freshly decorated areas. "Quod was putting at least three lit trees in each room and was hanging fairies and tinsel on every bare space."

"Delightful! Did you remember the odd muggle lights?"

"Yes, but they were not working in the house, so Quod replaced them."

"Replaced them?"

"Quod was replacing the electricity with flames. But master shouldn't worry, Quod put extra spells on to keep the house from burning down."

Alphard stroked his beard thoughtfully for a moment before nodding. "Lovely! That'll do the trick then. They'll be here any minute now- we best be ready. Dinner is prepared?"

"Yes master."

"And the prisoner's uniform?"

"Yes master."

"And the traps for the guards if they try to enter my bedroom or my study, or if they try to attack, or if they're rude?"

"Yes master. It is all ready."

With a swish of his peculiar bright green and red hounds tooth robes, Alphard stood up off the couch and beamed. "Let the house arrest begin."

* * *

Sirius Black had not been told _why_ he was leaving Azkaban, but he had assumed the worst when two guards came and sent simultaneous stunners at him. After all, normally they jumped straight to the physical abuse part of their fun.

His fears were not particularly alleviated when he first woke up, either. A heavy blindfold was over his eyes, and he could feel manacles on his wrists and around his ankles. However, he did notice one thing that seemed positive- the dementor's overbearing, soul-sucking (literally) presence was, for the first time in months, gone. Completely gone, too, not just slightly relieved like after the dementors had fed and were leaving prisoners to recover for the next round.

And then he heard a voice that he hadn't heard in quite some time.

"Why on earth is he tied like a stuck hog? I do say, lads- that's quite a bit of overkill for a man who the wind would blow over, don't you think?"

Tears pricked unbidden behind Sirius's eyes, and he bit hard on the tip of his tongue to resist the urge to break into full sobs.

_Uncle Alphie!_

"Required for transport, sir- we can unbind him as soon as we have him settled inside." The guard's gruff voice was resentful, and Sirius' mind flashed to several particularly sharp kicks in his ribs.

"Well, don't stand and dally then- bring him in at once!"

Sirius stayed limp, allowing himself to be roughly dragged through the front door of what he could only assume was Alphard's oversized townhome in Knightsbridge (magically concealed using the same set of spells that 12 Grimmauld Place had been).

"I won't tolerate anyone so dirty in my home- I'll be taking him to be cleaned up at once. In the mean time, you lot are welcome to enjoy the front parlor."

"Sir, that's really not-,"

"Are you insinuating that I can't take care of one unconscious individual? I would hate for the buffets I've planned for your team to turn from pancaked to gruel, lad."

"Of course not, sir. We'll be a shout away if you need… if you need anything at all."

Still limp, Sirius resisted the urge to groan as he was levitated into the air and began drifting painlessly (that was a practically new sensation, to be sure) down what was (most likely) Alphard's entry hall, past the reception room and towards the stairs. He drifted along for several minutes, feeling himself ascend, before hearing a door open before him and then close after he'd been moved inside.

"My boy, what have they done to you?"

Sirius had never heard his Uncle Alphie- brave, boisterous, laughing Uncle Alphie- sound quite so sad. Resisting the urge to let the tears still trapped behind his lids fall free, he remained still and kept his breathing steady. _What to say?_

"Well, you're home now. The family will take care of everything," Alphard lowered him to what felt a lot like Sirius vaguely remembered a real bed feeling and rapidly fired off four numbing and healing spells. "Odd statement, that. Neither of us would have expected to see the day."

Gentle hands removed the manacles at his hands, then his feet. Finally, the blindfold was Vanished. "Sirius, I do know you can hear me."

Popping one eye open, Sirius Black grinned. "Oh, that doesn't work on you?"

Alphard laughed, his hand gentle behind Sirius' neck as he helped him into a sitting position. "Watch your cheek, my boy- I've got a whole boat of healing potions for you, you know, and I can still give you the unflavored ones."

"Oh, Uncle, surely not- that's worst torture than Azkaban," Sirius intoned a bit dryly, but he couldn't stop the hint of a grin that hovered on his lips. "I do hope you were serious about the bath, though. I'm wearing a small country's worth of dirt and grime."

"You certainly smell like it too. I had to cast a senseless spell on my nose just to tolerate you," Alphard agreed. "If you're up to it right away, Quod will help you in the bathroom before I make you take your potions, and then you'll have dinner in bed."

"Why Uncle, you're at risk of sounding positively maternal!"

"In this family, that's practically an insult to date," Alphard muttered, then grinned. "But don't worry- the house elf will tuck you in so tight you can't get up in the middle of the night."

"Lovely. I'd like to get a move on then, if you don't mind- though, Uncle- did you happen to notice that your walls are covered in fire? Also- is that... is that supposed to be a Christmas tree? Because I'm pretty sure that's a potted maple, not an evergreen."

Alphard beamed. "Ah, so you do like it! I knew the Christmas decorations would be a hit."

* * *

_December 25, 1981_

_Dennin Road, Hampstead Village_

Helen Granger had been quite excited for Hermione's first _real_ Christmas (babies aren't quite fun on holidays their first year, after all), and had spent several months planning presents before the rather life changing revelation was made that her daughter was a witch.

That had, to say the least, changed things.

Her shopping trips in Diagon Alley had successfully netted her an entire pile of popular wizarding toys including a small broom, a floating doll house, an obscenely large pile of books and learning materials, and an entirely new wardrobe (Helen was quite into wizarding fashion). Yet, much to her dismay, it was Cassiopeia's present which had apparently taken the cake.

"Aunt Cassie, I appreciate the thought, but I hardly think a toddler needs an _explosions kit._ "

"Don't be ridiculous darling- its a standard potions kit. I had one just like it when I was her age," Cassiopeia reassured.

Marius shot her a glance over his steaming drink. "Did not." Agnes elbowed him.

"But it does, in fact, have the risk of exploding, does it not?" Helen asked frantically, said dangerous kit held high over her head while Hermione wailed at her feet.

"Doesn't everything?" Cassiopeia mused thoughtfully. "Even the sun has-,"

"Really, love, just let her hold the box-,"

"An extremely high probability of exploding at some point in the future- not to mention that even basic things such as salt-,"

"I am not giving our daughter a BOMB, Daniel!"

"Have the ability to catch fire and-,"

"Uhoh, Marius. She's doing it again."

"Which means even it has _explosive potential_ , if you think about it the right way-,"

"Oh hell- not the flying!"

"What do you mean _again?!"_

It took an hour to sort things out, but by the time Pip had been called to entrance the small child down from the ceiling for the second time (though Marius and Agnes both insisted it was the first), Helen had been successfully convinced that it was safe for Hermione to at least make a slime with constant supervision. Pip removed the dangerous chemicals from the kit, muttering under her breath about the pitfalls of allowing her mistress to pick out presents, and the Granger family (plus Cassiopeia) was finally able to move on from present opening to lunch. Just in time, too- Pip disappeared right as Helen's parents arrived at the front door.

It was not the Christmas that Helen had imagined, but, when she curled into bed with Daniel and a glass of wine later that evening, she was completely content.


	40. Invited

**A/N:** Hello everyone! A few notes for you today:

(1) The past two weeks I have been needed at work late on Wednesdays, so I've posted on Thurs morning (EST) instead- because I'm not sure if this will continue or not, I am going to go ahead and CHANGE the posting schedule. _Now, updates will be Mondays and Thursdays (still EST)._ As per usual, I'll let you know about any disruptions.

(2) Endless appreciation for your reviews, opinions, suggestions, etc! They're the driving force behind this story- any time I've considered slacking, I've checked my email, found a fun comment from one of you wonderful people, and been driven right back to the keyboard. So cheers to you, and I hope Cass and crew keep your weeks as wonderful as you make mine.

* * *

_January 2, 1982_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland_

While it was normally not hard for FIlius Flitwick to slip out of Hogwarts for a few hours on any given day, winter break of the 1981-1982 school year rapidly proved to be an exception. In addition to needing to keep a close eye on the students who had stayed over break (many of whom had been orphaned, disowned, or abandoned over the past year), Filius was loath to leave Minerva around the Headmaster without alternate supervision. It was, in fact, not until the second of the new year that he was able to send Minerva away for a day in London with Poppy.

With a cheerful wave in the direction of the two witches in the air, Filius glanced back towards the castle and squinted at the Headmaster's balcony. Neither Albus or Fawkes were immediately apparent- though, really, Dumbledore had no reason to be wary of the cheerful Charms professor who had briefly mentioned visiting his mum for tea.

Securing his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, Filius stepped fully through the front gates, turned on his heel, and disappeared.

* * *

_January 2, 1982_

_Calderon Castle, Spain_

Isla Calderon glanced down at her suddenly vibrating pinky finger as she poured herself a cup of tea. "Tolly?"

Tolly peeked his oblong head around the back of her chair. "Mistress?"

"We've a visitor about to come through the floo- the first wards are ringing. Bring another teacup."

"Mistress isn't going to be exploding or crushing or chopping the uninvited guest?" Tolly looked both faintly surprised and hesitantly relieved. (The baby elf'd been a bit traumatized by Isla's descriptions of the wards capabilities.)

Isla smiled widely. "Don't be silly- this one isn't totally uninvited."

Gulping, Tolly snapped his fingers once and disappeared for the requested extra tea setting. (If nothing else- he would be happy to avoid any coming gorey scenes.)

The fireplace shook madly for a moment, the pictures on the mantle quaking near the edge and then backward, before a sudden loud _BONG_ rang through the room. Isla brought her tea cup up to her lips and watched as her old co-apprentice stepped out in a swirl of midnight blue velvet.

"Why, Filius. You've come for tea? Please, sit."

Filius made a face as he crossed the room and hoisted himself up into the chair opposite hers. "You've been waiting for me, haven't you? I didn't have to dismantle a single curse."

Isla laughed. "As if you'd have been able to in time."

The pair regarded one another with companionable amusement for a long silent moment, during which Tolly reappeared with an extra cup and a plate of shortbread. As Isla levitated the tea pot to pour for him, Filius finally heaved a great sigh.

"It would be a shame for one to forgo using their own eyes and blindly accept the words of others."

Isla hummed in agreement, a slightly more graceful option than _I told you so._

"It's quite the puzzle you gave me."

"It certainly seems to be missing even more pieces recently."

Filius huffed out a laugh and swung his dangling feet. "I'm going to be quite frank, and I'd deeply appreciate it if you would be as well- I'm afraid we have very little time."

"Such a Gryffindor start, Filius! I wouldn't have expected it from you." Isla raised one brow consideringly- Filius was on edge. "Well, the first bit of information is always free to an old friend, I suppose. Let's start with this: I _happened_ to overhear a message concerning one Harry Potter from your favorite Gryffindor to the good Headmaster several weeks ago."

Filius sent her a sharp look. "How?"

"Dumbledore meddled where he should not have- namely, with the Black Family tree. He should be grateful the result wasn't more… fatal."

Filius fell silent for a long moment, eyes wandering around the room. "Cassiopeia Black."

"I did tell you she was investigating on behalf of the Potter family."

"Yes, yes- Dorea, I know. Isla, you have a child of your own. A grandchild."

Isla smiled towards the photos on the mantle, inclining her head slightly.

"I don't." Filius said bluntly. "I've never been inclined to settle down, and the closest I ever plan to getting to having children are my students. Toddlers confuse me, and infants are…. Not my cup of tea. But the state that Harry Potter was in when I found him? The place that Albus Dumbledore resigned him to? I would have taken him in myself just to get him away from it all."

_Albus, you are needed at once at 4 Privet Drive. There has been a terrible mistake, and it must be remedied at once._

_There has been a terrible mistake._

"I trust you wouldn't have left him there."

Filius shot her an affronted look that nearly screamed, _How little do you think of me?_

"You didn't come today to restore the child to his rightful guardians." Isla reached out to repour her cup, offering Filius the pot afterward. "After all, it's been some time since you removed him- you've had ample opportunity before now. What's changed?"

Filius chuckled bitterly. "What hasn't?"

"Don't dwell, darling. The sun is still in the sky, is it not?"

"Albus was never made aware that I know anything about Harry Potter's location. He has no clue who went with Minerva that night- not for lack of trying. I'm quite certain he's used memory charms on her nearly every day over the past three weeks, barring the evenings I've found excuses for her not to meet with him."

Well now, that was unexpected- Isla would never have expected the esteemed Hogwarts Headmaster to turn on the woman widely known as his guard dog. "Have you any concern that she's given you away?"

"None- otherwise, I'd have likely been memory charmed too." Filius's already-rapid wand tapping on his leg increased its speed. "Albus has a nearly unhealthy obsession with the Potter boy. He's been incensed since he vanished under his nose, and now that he's lost his shoving match with the Department of Magical Law Department regarding SIrius Black receiving a trial, he's even worse."

"It all goes back to guardianship it seems, doesn't it? Or maybe control. We'll need to know why. Filius, how much time do you have today?"

Pulling a golden pocket watch from under his robes, Filius stared at its face thoughtfully. "Likely another two hours."

"Tolly?"

"Yes, Mistress!"

Isla raised a single brow quizzically at her young house elf, who had appeared with his hands over his eyes. "I'd like my traveling cloak now, if you're able to see and find it in that…. Position."

A crack between the long, thin fingers revealed one suspicious eye. "Mistress is just wanting the cloak? She is not being in need of any… special clean up?"

Isla chuckled and beamed brightly. "Not yet. Hurry along now."

The little elf disappeared with a sharp pop!

"Where are we going?" Filius asked, sliding off the chair and draining his cup of tea in one smooth motion.

"Firstly, I'd like to confirm your mind hasn't been tampered with. Secondly… Filius, I think it's time for you to meet Cassiopeia Black."


	41. Uninvited Guests

**A/N:** Hello everyone! Apologies for disappearing off the face of the earth with no warning. Now that I can safely look at screens for extended periods again, we're picking up exactly where we left off. Sincerest thanks to everyone who commented or messaged inquiring about my vanishing act (I'm fine now!), as well as to all of the new readers who have been leaving awesome comments about their fave parts of the story + things they'd love to see going forward. You all are the brightest parts of my weeks!

Just to be safe, I am only guaranteeing ONE weekly update on Monday's for the foreseeable future (not trying to restrain my eyes, plus I have to catch up on missed work). However, I am anticipating 2x a week at random and then amping it back up to be consistently 2 posts per week again in a few months. Cheers everyone!

* * *

_January 2, 1982_

_Chateau Black, France_

Cassiopeia Black tapped her quill on the table irritably. "This puzzle seems to be getting more complicated every day- is there no end to the number of new obstacles that will appear before we reach my objective?"

Perched on her tiny stool in the corner, Pip shrugged away her Mistress' irritation. "Missy Cassiopeia _did_ say that this project could take years."

"Well, yes, but I wasn't quite anticipating this many moving pieces. It's like trying to play chess, and go, and shogi at the same time," the Black matriarch huffed as she slashed her signature across the bottom of a letter to Andromeda Tonks. "And maybe exploding snap, too."

"That's because Missy Cassiopeia was going and finding extra trouble," Pip said mildly, no trace of pity in her squeaky voice. "First Missy Cassiopeia was supposed to take over from her cousin. Then she was supposed to be fixing the family name. But somehow she is-,"

"Yes, yes, Pip. I know. Somehow I have gotten my fingers into more pots than I can count."

Standing, Pip traded out the complete letter to Andromeda for a yet blank parchment addressed to Augusta Longbottom. "Missy Cassiopeia has not yet received a status update from her odd nephew."

"Which one? Oh- you mean Alphard? Give him a few more days- if we hear nothing…."

"Pip is knowing what to do to handle that." Pip smiled a bit grimly, glancing out the window towards her beloved garden.

"Pip?"

"Yes, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"Are there very many more letters left to respond to today? I quite think I need a moment to evaluate the information we have currently and confirm our trajectory-,"

"Missy Cassiopeia must be finishing all of her letters- Pip was only bringing the important ones." the house elf skimmed through the stack of parchment left in front of her. "Missy Cassiopeia only needs to respond to three more letters."

Cassiopeia sighed theatrically and slumped so heavily across the table that, had her mother been alive, she would have been hexed with a backboard for months.

"Missy Cassiopeia cannot move to the next phase of her project if she does not finish her letters," Pip wheedled, moving closer to tap the still-blank letter to Augusta with one finger.

Cassiopeia, who normally quite enjoyed her house elf's sneaky cajoling, remained resolutely face down on the table.

"Missy Cassiopeia seems to feel awful today," Pip muttered loudly to herself, eyes narrowing on her mistress' form when nothing happened after several long moments. "Pip is going to need to get out the pepper up potion, and if her mistress is feeling so down and distraught she must also be taking an Invigorating Elixir, and fish oils, and-"

Cassiopeia's head popped off the table like a rocket. "I am perfectly fine, you doddy elf!"

"And if that is not working then Pip will have to be making her only veggie biscuits for the next month to make sure that the issue isn't lack of fiber-,"

"That's just cruel," Cassiopeia muttered, looking nearly as green around the gills as the kale biscuit monstrosities her house elf had forced upon her not long ago.

"And if that is not working, then Missy Cassiopeia will just have to stop plotting with all sorts of people at strange hours of the night because the lack of sleep is affecting her health- and Pip's job is to take care of Missy Cassiopeia and her health."

"Morganna, Pip- I absolutely do not plot with all sorts of people at strange hours! Only Isla. And maybe Marius if you look at less strange hours of the day. Also, when did I ever order you to look after my health? Dodgy old girl, you do it all of your own accord!"

"Missy Cassiopeia was telling Pip to take care of everything else- her health is everything else!"

"I suppose it could be argued that everything includes health, but...,"

Pip affixed her mistress with a stern look. "Pip is knowing how much work Missy Cassiopeia has been doing, and Pip is knowing it has been very hard work. But Pip is also knowing that Missy Cassiopeia has much more work to do. So Missy Cassiopeia must finish her letters, take her medicine, and return to her project."

Cassiopeia brightened considerably at her house elf's rather lackadaisical compliment, and sat back up in her chair. "Three more letters, you say?"

"Three more letters," Pip confirmed, mind whirling with the best way to slip recovery potions into her aging mistress' dinner (a near melt was, in Pip's experience, a clear sign of either exhaustion or an oncoming cold).

"Well, alright then- but do bring a plate of biscuits."

* * *

It took nearly another hour, but by midday Cassiopeia's correspondence had been mailed, her two floo calls had been completed (one outbound to Pollux, who was threatening to become a hermit if she did not find something to do with him, and one incoming from Rita Skeeter, curious what event she would be covering next), and her elf had been successfully convinced that a nap was in due order.

"If only it were warm enough to nap outdoors," Pip fretted, glancing out into the frozen garden. "Missy Cassiopeia could use some sun."

Cassiopeia raised one brow as she settled in on the daybed. "I'm British, Pip. Sunshine is barely in my vernacular."

The elf frowned. "Missy Cassiopeia should still-."

Invisible fat raindrops dripped directly down the house elf's spine, and she gave a full body shudder. At the same instant, Cassiopeia's pointer finger and thumb began vibrating savagely.

"I don't suppose that's a delivery?"

Pip shook her head, squirming uncomfortably as she watched the fireplace roar to life and turn green.

"Wand up, then- I don't know why on earth any group would be pushing through our wards like-,"

With a soft thud and a sweeping cascade of brilliant blue velvet, Isla Calderon stepped from the fire and raised one brow at Cassiopeia's still reclined form. "Goodness, darling. A bit late to be lying abed, is it not?"

Squinting her eyes, Cassiopeia ignored the barb to peer closely at the tiny man her dearest friend had dragged through her fireplace only moments before. "Pip?"

"Yes, Missy Cassiopeia?"

"We didn't make any appointments today, did we?"

"Absolutely no appointments were even requested, Missy Cassiopeia."

"Then we appear to have an intruder. Dearie me, Isla, you haven't been kidnapped have you? Surely not. You kidnapped this little man, then? Whatever for?"

Isla let out a decidedly un-ladylike huff. "Goodness, darling, at least aim for basic manners- I can't imagine what your mother would say if she saw you call Professor Flitwick here a little man to his face." There was a pause, and then: "Actually, yes I can. Your mother is a horrid example."

Filius, frowning heavily himself, stepped backwards towards the fireplace. "I won't come where I'm not welcome- though, Isla, I'm rather disappointed that-,"

"Oh, you're perfectly welcome, if you're Isla's guest and not her kidnapper." Cassiopeia paused thoughtfully, "Though I suppose if you were her kidnapee I could hardly turn you away either."

Isla looked very pointedly at the ceiling in what some might call an exaggerated eye roll.

"Cassiopeia, I'd like to acquaint you with Professor Filius Flitwick, an old friend of mine from our shared apprenticeship. Professor, this is Madam Cassiopeia Black, Materfamilias of her House and my closest confidante." The Calderon matron waved one gloved hand between the pair. "Cassiopeia, Filius has a fine appreciation of food. Filius, Cassiopeia has a wonderful kitchen staff. So then, tea?"

(Hidden behind her mistress, Pip groaned. A proper tea should be planned more than five minutes in advance!)

Cassiopeia smiled easily. "Well, if you insist dear. If you'd both follow me?"

* * *

The winter conservatory was still a bit frozen from Cassiopeia's strategic Christmas celebrations (a good freezing charm does not simply _wear off_ ), so she guided her unexpected guests across the house for their impromptu tea.

Dubbed the Oaken Parlour, the room the trio entered was small and cozy, heated by a large fireplace that took up nearly a whole wall, and papered with leafy golden branches. It's centerpiece was a glossy oak table shaped like a leaf of the same tree, with pure gold ore running its length in place of a stem. If it's innate coziness wasn't enough to make a new acquaintance speak openly, the confidence charms and soothing enchantments embedded in the very walls themselves certainly were.

Settling down on a dark cushioned chair, Cassiopeia gestured for Isla and Filius to make themselves comfortable. "I must say- when the wards alerted me that more than one person was coming through, I was a bit worried."

Isla raised a single eyebrow. "Expecting unwelcome company now, are we?"

"I'm the materfamilias of one of the most notorious families in wizarding Britain darling- of course I am." Cassiopeia paused thoughtfully. "Though while we're on the topic- would you mind adding additional protection against goblins into my wards sometime soon?"

Both of Filius' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Goblins, Madam?"

"Certainly- I wouldn't be surprised if someone hired the Hoard to attempt to meddle in my business at this point."

"You don't- Madam, as much as I hate to disabuse you of your notions in your own parlor, the Hoard is not for hire by wizardkind." Filius' mild surprise vanished in the face of his sudden amusement.

Cassiopeia smiled vaguely. "Of course they're not."

"I do assure-,"

"Tea is being ready, Missy Cassiopeia." With an unusually soft _pop!_ , Pip appeared with a complete tea set balanced on her overly long fingers. "The guests must try _all_ of Pip's menu."

Quite the menu it was- Pip had been hard pressed to choose between providing sparse trimmings to get back at the uninvited diners or living up to Isla's casual compliment, and eventually the desire to avoid embarrassing her Mistress had won out. It had taken a good bit of rushing and a great deal of magic, but the good black and bone white china set depicting funeral chrysanthemums was now loaded down with roasted butternut squash soup, miniature sandwiches in nine varieties (including english cucumber and smoked salmon), squares of baklava, tea biscuits, plain and berry scones, and cream.

"Goodness," Cassiopeia murmured, eyeing the baklava appreciatively. "And on such short notice, too. You outdid yourself, Pip."

"And Pip was not poisoning a single thing, even if she should for requesting tea after barging in," the little elf muttered under her breath as she passed out tea cups.

At Pip's elbow, Filius' eye's grew wide in alarm.

Isla laughed behind one gloved hand, watching as her oldest friend levitated the tea pot and poured. "Don't worry, Professor- I do believe the elf has been given specific orders to not poison guests without permission."

"One guest was enough," Cassiopeia said agreeably, and her grin spread across her face as she watched the small statured Hogwarts teacher peer worriedly at the biscuit he'd only just set on his plate.

Both women were pleasantly surprised when Filius glanced up, grinned, and took a large bite of the biscuit. "Fortunately, one of the main benefits of having _completed_ my Charms mastery was mastering a wandless, nonverbal poison detection charm."

Isla looked affronted. "Did you then!"

Slyly: "Certainly- it's amazing what you can pick up when you aren't distracted by sweet Spanish nothings in your ear."

Cassiopeia cackled at Isla's exceedingly rare flabbergasted expression.

"My final year was primarily independent study of perfecting nonverbal- and, when possible, wandless- charms. My specialty aside from dueling charms were detection spells." Filius' smile turned razor sharp. "That's how I can list the exact names and number of the enchantments in this room."

There was a brief pause, broken finally by Isla's laughter. "Ravenclaws- they spoil all the fun with their practicality. Why on earth did you even think to check?"

"I'd like to say I check every room I enter, but it was actually the sound muffling effect that such an overabundance of charms has on the sound of elf apparition that clued me in," Filius admitted easily. "That said, lesson learned- I'll start checking my surroundings more at once. It is too easy to relax at Hogwarts. At least, it was."

"Oh?"

"Apologies, darling, I didn't explain- Filius is here with me for more than just tea. Albus has been quite naughty lately it seems. Care to explain more, Professor?"

"In for a penny, in for a pound. I first began investigating after Isla's Hogwarts visit some weeks ago..."


	42. A Tangled Ball of Yarn

_January 2, 1982_

_Chateau Black, France_

Collapsing gracelessly back onto the reluctantly abandoned daybed she had once intended to nap on, Cassiopeia Black twirled her wand between her fingers and considered what she had learned from Filius Flitwick. "Knotty."

"Pardon?"

"Knotty- the yarn ball that we're working with, I mean. A new tangle every time we pull a string."

Settled into a wide wingback chair at her side with a glass of elven wine in one hand, Isla quirked her lips upward. "Missing the days when all we had to deal with were crazy nieces and dark lords, are we?"

"Without a doubt." Cassiopeia crossed one ankle over the other and raised a single brow. "Aren't you?"

Isla laughed, then grew sober. "What Filius said about your great-nephew…"

"Dorea's grandson."

"Right. What he said…."

"Horrific. It's horrific. I think of my heir, and your grandson, and I can't comprehend it." Cassiopeia paused. "Frankly, I am going to have to call a family council."

"Will you prioritize this over Sirius?"

"Don't be ridiculous. The two matters go hand in hand- based on what Filius told us today and what you learned about the Order of Phoenix, the only reason a false accusation of Sirius went through was because Dumbledore at the very least allowed it. And based on how determined the meddling old man seems to be, my hypothesis is that he did it to ensure he would have control of Dorea's grandson."

"We need to know why he wants that control in the first place." Isla swirled her wine around the rim of the glass. "I thought it was jealousy at first. Knocked off his throne as Hero of the Wizarding World by an infant…. But I don't think his actions suggest jealousy anymore. He's jeopardized his own reputation repeatedly to try to gain an upper hand- no, there has to be a long game strategy here somewhere."

"Either the Headmaster's bias against dark magic and traditionally dark families is so intense that it rivals the British dark lord's revulsion of muggles, or he is working on a project of his own that requires full control of Harry Potter. Either way, he seems quite set against my House." Cassiopeia furrowed her brow further and sat up to look Isla square in the eye. "The House as a whole will have to respond."

Isla inclined her head regally, polishing off her wine and setting the glass aside before rising from her seat. "And while you handle that, I'll fulfill our promise to Filius. Gryffindor or no, Minerva McGonagall needs our help."

* * *

_January 4, 1982_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

Albus Dumbledore was tired.

He was tired of his carefully laid plans being thwarted by previously unheard of foes (seriously, where were these meddling Blacks even coming from? Everyone knew their House had essentially fallen!). There was still no clear answer to what had happened to him when he tried to remove Harry Potter's connection to the Black family tree, nor was there a clear answer as to how he had ended up in the Crowing Cock.

He was tired of the constant level of anxiety that having his only weapon against Tom Riddle's eventual return made inaccessible to him.

He was tired of trying to explain why the Greater Good was more important than the individual good- especially to a woman who, he knew firsthand, would risk no life other than her own to save anyone- even the whole world.

He was tired of the rising level of guilt born from days of wreaking havoc on one of his dearest friend's memories. It was particularly vexing that the guiltier he felt, the worse behaved his familiar was. The Phoenix was barely singing at him these days.

But most of all, Albus Dumbledore was tired- absolutely bloody tired- of swimming.

In the Great Lake.

In January.

So when Minerva didn't come through her portrait hole at 4 am sharp on the first Monday of 1982, his first reaction wasn't concern- it was relief. _No excessive heating charms for me today! Good thing, too. They dry out the skin terribly, and at my age…._

However, it was not long till his bright smile faded, and the twinkle dulled in his eyes. _Has Minerva ever missed a morning routine when she's not been ill?_

Albus Dumbledore may have spent the better part of two weeks attempting to manipulate, maneuver, and consequently obliviating Minerva, but she was still one of his dearest friends. One of his dearest friends, who had cried on his shoulder and who he'd shared many a good Scotch with. Certainly the only person alive who he could entrust his legacy at Hogwarts to.

_Surely not ill- she was fit as a fiddle at dinner last night! Even if she did seem a bit off when we spoke afterward…._

A new fear struck the elderly Headmaster like a slap to the face, and his twinkling blue eyes widened. What if he had messed up the spell?

"Minerva?" Dumbledore's soft voice echoed down the hallway, earning angry glares from other portraits. "Minerva, are you awake?"

"We're all awake now," a painted nymph grumbled from her gilded frame.

Ignoring her, Albus tapped on the side of the portrait guarding her rooms. "Minerva-,"

"Excuse me, Headmaster, but the Professor hasn't moved an inch yet this morning. I haven't heard her moving around at all," the painted magical lion said hesitantly, clearly apologetic. "I'm not sure if I could rouse her even if I-,"

"That's quite alright my boy," Dumbledore murmured, but his mind was spinning now. He had two choices- and both had pros and cons.

The first, to barge in and check on Minerva. If it was indeed his spell that had incapacitated her, there might be a limited window of time to get her the help she needed. There was the worrying possibility that someone could clue in to how many obliviates had been used on her recently- but on the flip side, without help she could lose her mind entirely.

The second was more palatable- walk away, pretend he thought that Minerva was having a lie in today. Assume everything was fine. _Ignorance is bliss._ If he came back to check again later, he would still seem like the hero for finding her, and chances were it would be too late for any healer to determine where her mind had gone.

A sudden barrage of memories- moments, so small he would later wonder what had made him recall them- consumed his mind.

Minerva, elbowing him and asking him which seventh years he wanted to bet would be dating by end of term.

Minerva, pouring two healthy drabs of whiskey and sliding one across the table with a conspiratorial grin.

Minerva, dancing with her late husband at the Leaky one New Years Eve.

Minerva, dropping a pair of hand knitted socks into his lap. Teasing: "What else do you get the man who has everything?"

Minerva, eyes lit up as she spoke of her students.

_Her students. The next generation. The Greater Good requires an educated next generation._

Dumbledore took a deep breath, and laid his hand on the portrait frame. "I'd best check on her- just to be safe. _Rejicio._ "

The portrait swung open slowly, and Albus Dumbledore took a deep breath. An entire generation of students needed Minerva- as did the school as a whole. Checking on her, regardless of the consequences, was for the Greater Good.

For the Greater Good.

* * *

"Really Albus, this is completely unnecessary."

Albus glanced over Minerva's lime green and swollen form through the contained air bubble he had cast around her, amazed that she was protesting. "Oh my dear, it is most definitely necessary."

"Such a germaphobe," Minerva grumbled around loud, hacking coughs. "There is positively nothing wrong with me. I am fit as a fiddle."

"As I'm not the Hospital Wing Matron, I'll leave it to Madam Pomfrey to determine that," Albus said patiently. _Or more likely, for St. Mungos. How on earth did Minerva get a mild strain of Dragon Pox?_

"Tosh- Poppy will have me back at my desk in a minute if she knows what's good for her. I have things to do, Albus!"

"Anything in particular I can take off your shoulders while you're in the ward?" Dumbledore offered as cheerfully as possible, crossing his fingers that, with any luck, Minerva had just enough of a fever to be looser lipped than normal.

"Actually, if you could step in for my advanced classes, that would be wonderful- they really shouldn't miss any days at this point in the semester," Minerva fretted. Dumbledore sighed. _What could be so important at the very beginning of the semester?_

"Of course, not a problem. I haven't had a chance to step foot in a classroom in some time now, I suspect it will be quite the good time."

"And if you wouldn't mind managing the approvals for the prefects new schedules. Also-,"

Dumbledore hid his despair behind a kindly smile, nodding agreeably with each additional request from the increasingly frazzled and hacking Deputy Head. "Minerva, don't worry. I'm sure you'll be back at the desk in no time at all."

* * *

"She won't be back for at least three weeks."

"What's that now?"

Poppy Pomfrey shot Dumbledore a sympathetic glance. "Minerva will be out for at least three weeks- assuming her treatment goes well."

"But I thought she had-,"

" _Rare_ form of dragon pox, as opposed to the mild strain you suggested. She's not contagious, thank goodness- can you imagine having an outbreak in the school?- but she requires daily potions, constant oversight, and quite a bit of rest. At her age and at her stress point, the Head Healer over at St. Mungo's decided to admit her for some time."

"But three weeks…" Albus murmured, suddenly dizzy. One day of overseeing Minerva's normal duties had been exhausting- the idea of three weeks? Beyond the pale! He might not survive.

Maybe he should have left her alone after all, and damn the Greater Good.

"Don't worry, Headmaster. Minerva sent a specific list of instructions…."

* * *

_January 5, 1982_

_St. Mungos Hospital for Magical Maladies_

Minerva McGonagall eyed the woman who walked through the door of her hospital room warily. "Can I help you?"

Blood red lips flickered up into an amused smile. "Hello, Minerva. My name is Isla Calderon, and your friend Filius Flitwick has requested that _I_ help _you."_


	43. Brave, Not Stupid

_January 5, 1982_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

Arcturus Black, previous Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black and one-time powerhouse member of the Wizengamot, was well accustomed to being a very important man. For as long as he could remember, people had hurried to do his bidding in an attempt to curry favor with his House- rarely had he been told "no" by anyone (other than his father).

Perfect scores and a prefect's badge while in school? Easy.

Married to the best looking and brightest witch of at least two generations? Accomplished.

Two children to carry on the family legacy? They'd been every bit as beautiful, bright, and cunning, as he had demanded.

Long lasting political alliances, grandchildren, world travelling, well documented journals on personal magical research? Check, check, and check.

Arcturus had been fairly certain that he would go down in Black family history as one of their most successful heads of houses, and in wizarding history as a powerful leader during Grindelwald's war.

But then, the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort had darkened his doorway (or mailbox, as the case may be).

Arcturus wasn't an idiot- proud, yes, and certainly self-serving, but not an idiot. He had known at once that there was something incredibly wrong with the pretty young man who had written to request- _demand_ \- both his sponsorship and his fealty. Several discreet conversations with his son and nephew had shed light on the matter: Lord Voldemort, with dark magic boiling around his fingertips, was the same Tom Riddle they had fawned over and followed at Hogwarts. Powerful, incredibly bright, the supposed Heir of Slytherin (and they _had_ all seen the Chamber of Secrets opened, so perhaps it was true), and certainly not a pureblood.

It had seemed quite the dilemma.

On the one hand, his own rearing and education had firmly suggested to him that the only way to protect the wizarding traditions he held dear (and which were being aggressively campaigned against by the current political administration) was to keep power in the hands of the pureblood families. Swearing fealty of his house to a half blood, regardless of their power or sway with the younger generation, went against the grain.

On the other hand, Arcturus was very aware that one should never ignore a sharp knife- nor a rabid dog. The self professed Dark Lord claimed to be interested in restoring purebloods to power, and if a half blood was willing to fight to put more control into Arcturus' hands, he certainly wasn't going to complain.

It was the other portions of Tom Riddle's letters that kept him from buying in whole heartedly to the younger man's plan. While Arcturus thought muggles dirty and backward and muggleborns a danger to their society, he wasn't quite on board with the mass genocide and destruction of the Statute of Secrecy that the young dark lord was planning. In some ways, the ideaology's extremism reminded him of the war (Grindelwald, too, had been compelling, and Grindelwald, too, had been convicted of his beliefs). At the end of the day, it was these uncomfortable parallels that prevented Arcturus from inviting Riddle to the dinner meeting he had requested.

But Arcturus wasn't an idiot. He was proud, he was self-serving, and he was most certainly biggoted, but he was not an idiot. So he wrote back.

_Sir-_

_The next generation of House Black have entered the political boxing ring, and I would be remiss in influencing them one way or another in the current climate. Would that you unite each Black under your banner, I would be pleased to accept your request for a dinner invitation. Until that time, please visit Gringotts to receive a one time donation towards restoring wizarding traditions to the forefront of our society._

_Cordially,_

_Arcturus Black_

_Paterfamilias of the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black_

It was a bet, with Arcrutus placing his money on his family continuing to go out of their way to disagree with one another with his direct influence. The Black Paterfamilias had been well aware of what he was promising should the pretentious other man actually sway the entirety of the family.

He'd watched the first Blood War progress with a critical eye- the two dominating powers, led by Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort respectively, did not represent his own political or personal beliefs, and he was no longer a volatile young person eager to engage with a wand. Instead, Arcturus had kept track of who each of his family member's were supporting and how much gold was being spent to do so. Passionate displays and battles were for young people, he frequently reminded his wife, and at least in their current position House Black was arguably neutral.

Neutral, until suddenly it seemed they weren't.

Cassiopeia's blunt explanation of how the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black had become synonymous with Lord Voldemort's terror attacks had been eye opening and, unfortunately, accurate. In the days following the family council that had stripped him of his power, Arcturus had realized with a sickening lurch that his long ago challenge to Tom Riddle had been a mistake.

Lord Voldemort had been methodical, carefully collecting Black family members one branch at a time. He preyed on their innate fear of the changing legislations and of muggleborns following Grindelwald's wars, on their desire to return to the old wizarding ways, and on their innate madness (even Arcturus couldn't deny that bit of the family's reputation). He had transformed the Black's into merely a dozen propaganda machines, endangering their bonds with the family magic and shattering their souls in order to rebuild them for his cause.

Arcturus was quite certain, when he considered the chain of events that led up to his removal from the Paterfamilias position on November 11th of 1981, that his sins included quite a bit more than the apathy that his younger cousin had accused him of. Certainly, they had resulted in the death of his son and his favored grandson.

"You couldn't have known," Melania had reminded him as they laid in bed in the days following the family council, "You couldn't have possibly known. And even if you had, what could you have done?"

"Not married our son to Pollux's harpy of a child, for starters," Arcturus sighed deeply. "Never responded to the letter. Said that the House of Black would not bend a knee. Offered Sirius help, or told him I had intended the House to remain neutral. Attended the Wizengamot sessions rather than voting by Proxy. Sought counsel from-,"

"Enough, Archie. You didn't know. You couldn't have known."

"All the same-,"

"No. No more. Once we lay our son to rest- once he rejoins our magic- then you can make amends. Until then…. Please, Archie. We haven't been able to mourn for two years. We have a child who _does_ still need us. _I_ still need _you._ "

Orion's funeral had been every bit as healing as Melania had hoped- for her, anyways. The pulsing sensation of their son's magic being reabsorbed into the family had felt like acceptance, forgiveness, and strength in Melania's heart, but in Arcturus' it had felt like guilt and sorrow. He wondered, silently, if his oldest child's spirit had wished to share his own guilt with the person most likely to understand it.

"Orion's regrets are his alone, my love," Melania said firmly the following week, silently vanishing every bottle of firewhiskey in the room. "And now that he is gone, you can't drown them for him."

"Fine- I'll drown my own then," Arcturus had grumbled, eyes fixed firmly on a portrait of his once oh-so-perfect family above the mantel.

"No, you will not. I did not marry a drunk, and I will not stay married to one, Arcturus- and if you feel so much _guilt_ over the result of one letter, then I think it is past time for you to begin actually rectifying your mistake."

" _Lord Voldemort_ is dead, Mel," Arcturus snapped. "I am no longer the Paterfamilias, or the Head, or- hell, even a member of the main Black family. A bloody _squib_ has taken what should have been my place counseling the family's new Head! What do you expect me to do to make up for my mistakes?"

Frowning heavily, Melania tossed her bright blonde hair behind one shoulder and moved across the room to settle onto her husband's lap. Taking his face between her hands, she stroked one finger along the sharp cheekbones that she had first been enamored by so many years ago. "Arcturus, I love you."

Arcturus flinched, eyes wide.

In the entirety of their carefully arranged marriage, they had not once spoken of love- and why should they? Theirs was an arranged marriage, even if Arcturus had specifically requested his father reach out to hers, even if Melania had been setting scraps of paper with his name on them on fire since her fourth year. Love had seemed an unnecessary thing to discuss when the couple had such an obvious foundation of appreciation, respect, passion, and- until now- power. That Melania would bring up love….

It was as if their world had become a different place overnight.

"I love you," Melania repeated, keeping her eyes firmly locked with her husband's own, her only sign of discomfort, the slight pink in her cheeks. "And i know that we are going to survive this, so long as we are together. We will survive our change in station, the loss of our son, and the apparent never ending interference of your cousin. We will survive our guilt, and our failures, and we will remake our name within the House of Black. I know we can do it, Arcturus, because we have always been better together. Because we are cunning. And I know we have to do it, because quite frankly, while I think we're going to have to accept both the squib and the mud- _muggleborns and muggles_ \- that Cassiopeia brings around, the family is still going to need us."

Arcturus stared at her blankly, and Melania sighed, caressing his cheek one last time before sliding off his lap. "Cassiopeia is coming tomorrow- she actually had the presence of mind to send an owl for once in her life, and not just appear in our bedroom. By the time she gets here, I expect you to have returned to being the man I married."

She was nearly to the door when Arcturus shook himself from his reverie. "Mel."

"Yes?"

"I… I love you too."

Melania raised a single eyebrow imperiously and smirked. "I know."

* * *

"Cousin- fully dressed for once, I see."

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you sound disappointed Cassiopeia."

"Don't be ridiculous Arcturus. Your wife is the impressive one."

Watching her husband and their new Materfamilias glare at one another over their tea, Melania sighed internally and closed her eyes tightly to avoid rolling them towards the ceiling. "Surely we can skip the pleasantries," the previous Matriarch murmured, praying to Morganna herself for the patience needed to survive the afternoon.

"For you, of course," Cassiopeia said pleasantly, reaching out for her fifth biscuit and shooting a sly look towards her older cousin. "As there were _complaints_ the last time I called an impromptu family council, I've come to forewarn you."

"Another family council?" Arcturus' surprise shone through his attempt at a composed mask. "That is certainly-"

"Peculiar, I know." Cassiopeia sighed. "It will be the first time that two Black family councils have been called within less than a year since-,"

"Since Aunt Ellidora and Grandmother Ursula were caught in the-,"

"Quite."

A bit discomfited by the rare empathetic expression shared between the cousins, Melania cut in. "Surely you have good purpose."

"Of course- a necessary alteration to our plans for the project." Cassiopeia's dreamy features sharpened noticeably. "In confidence, I will share with you that there has been an attack on one of the youngest members of House Black."

Gasping, Melania did a mental headcount. Youngest members could only refer to Nymphandora, Draco, and Harry. Of the three, two she was quite certain were safe behind their mothers' impressive wards. That left… "Harry, then?"

Cassiopeia nodded.

"How would you know? Harry Potter is missing, is he not?" Arcturus demanded abruptly, "Has the family magic tried to tell you, or-"

"The family magic has made me no more aware of young Harry's situation than it made you of Orion's," Cassiopeia said, surprisingly gentle. "That is not the way of the family magic- they must call us through it, or we must specifically inquire. However, I have close connections-,"

 _(Isla Calderon, then,_ Melania surmised.)

"-who have determined that Harry was placed in an abusive situation after the death of his parents. While he is safe now, the abuse was great enough to warrant an investigation.

Melania, sharp: "Any act against our house should warrant an investigation."

"I'm glad you feel that way, because I have decided to put you in charge of the case."

There was a silent pause. Then…

"Pardon?"

Cassiopeia smiled amusedly. "You- the two of you- will investigate the attack against our family. I expect a full report to be obtained in the coming days, for presentation during the next family council, which I will call on this coming Saturday."

"But-,"

Melania held up a hand, and her husband fell silent. "You would entrust something as serious as an investigation into an attack against the House of Black to Arcturus and I?"

"Certainly- after all, you who have once led the House are surely the most fit amongst our members for such an investigation of the crimes against our members."

"Where would we even start? If the kid has been completely hidden-,"

"I've a name and address for you. Harry is no longer there, and is indeed once more securely hidden, but it would be the best place for you to start." Sliding a piece of parchment out of one deep pocket of her navy velvet robes, Cassiopeia passed it across the table.

"Dursley… Privet Drive….," Arcturus glanced up and frowned. "I've not heard of either."

"A… half blood, perhaps?" Melania asked carefully.

"No."

"Muggleborn, in a small magical community?"

"No."

Paling, Arcturus leaned towards his cousin and glared. "Surely you aren't insinuating these are muggles in a… in some dirty muggle neighborhood!"

Smiling widely, Cassiopeia stood and moved towards the fireplace, one final biscuit in her hand.

"Cassiopeia!"

"Consider this a chance to make a choice, Arcturus. Between your own prejudices, and the good of our House," Cassiopeia offered cheerfully. "Either way, you'll be called on to present on Saturday. The outcome of that presentation might just determine your place in this family."

With a nearly silent crackle of magic, she Apparated away.

"Terrible manners," Melania murmured reflexively, imagining the hexing her mother would give her if she had ever left tea without a proper good bye or even a bye your leave. Such was the power, she supposed, of being a known eccentric and Materfamilias to boot.

"Her mother always did complain about them," Arcturus agreed, and scowled down at the parchment in his hand.

"Will we….,"

"Yes," he said finally, voice gentling as he glanced up at the painted portrait of his much younger family over the mantle. "Yes, we will investigate on Cassiopeia's behalf."

Melania hid her smile behind her teacup. If they managed to help House Black through their investigation, it could only be to their benefit. And if this assignment provided the opportunity to prove their muggle loving family members that muggles were dangerous- _an attack! On a child! On a child belonging to House Black!_ \- well, that was a chance worth taking. 


	44. Nothing Good

**A/N:** Passcod on Ao3 left this comment that left me laughing so hard I cried (literally, my fiance was actually concerned by the time I fell off the couch), and I absolutely had to share it with you all!

"Websites: we use cookies to improve performance

Cassiopeia: same"

Updates still scheduled for once per week on Mondays for the time being. Have a great week!

* * *

_January 6, 1982_

_St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London_

Remus Lupin leaned against the cold white wall of the hospital corridor, closing his eyes and breathing in deeply. In the not quite three weeks that had passed since his investigation into what Remus was now calling the Death of the Marauders began, his world had been turned upside down once again.

Realizing that his ongoing investigation would be most successful if he remained discreet, but acknowledging that his extremely limited funds wouldn't pay for even the seediest London hotel for much longer, Remus had reluctantly determined that it was time to go home. It was bitterly cold on the Sunday before Christmas when he finally knocked on his parents' front door.

"Remus," his mother had breathed, pale as if she had seen a ghost- and perhaps, to her, he was one. It had been three years since Remus had risked going home, painfully aware that Dumbledore's request for him to spy amongst the werewolf packs placed his parents directly in danger.

"Hello, mum," Remus said politely, painfully aware of every new scar on his exposed face and hands as she took them in, still staring unblinkingly up at him with one hand on the door knob. "I'm, well, I'm home."

Hope Lupin's eyes shone as she stepped backwards to let him through the door, opening her arms wide as if he were a child again. "Sweet boy, I suppose you are."

A bit awkwardly- Remus was fairly certain that a man in his twenties had no place being coddled- he stepped into the embrace, only to find himself clinging as tightly as a child. Three years of struggles- fear, anxiety, and grief- felt slightly further away with each second that Remus embraced his mother.

It was several long minutes before they separated, Hope beaming as she shepherded him to the kitchen. "Lyall, where are- Lyall!"

Lyall Lupin glanced up from his paper- and promptly dropped it on the table. Unlike his wife, who could not quite stop repeating her only child's name, he was wordless- his mouth gaped open as he sat frozen, staring.

Remus and his father's relationship had been strained since Remus was found mauled in the back garden at six years old. Lyall's guilt had suffocated him- guilt for his culpability in the targeted attack on his son, guilt for his inability to separate the monster who attacked children from the creature his child would now turn into once a month, guilt for neither avenging or apologizing to Remus. The guilt seemed to grow every time he looked at Remus until he suddenly found himself avoiding eye contact, and taking longer hours at work, and excusing himself from conversation.

And, like nearly everyone who avoids the root of the guilt without resolving it, Lyall Lupin's guilt only increased.

Remus had known this growing up- his mother had considered it important that he understood that his father _did_ love him, and _would_ do anything to protect him, and as such was selfishly disappointed in himself that he had not. But despite knowing this, despite internalizing it completely and without question, Remus retained a mix bag of feelings towards Lyall his entire life.

"Hello, dad," Remus murmured, "Good to see-,"

Stopping abruptly, Remus' eyes widened dramatically as he stared at his father. His father, who, mouth still working, had burst into tears.

"Dad?"

Lyall pushed himself out of his chair, striding across the kitchen in four long steps to clasp his child against his chest. "Son. My son. I thought you were-,"

Tentatively, and a bit uncomfortable, Remus wrapped his arms around his father's shoulders and tried for a joking tone. "Right as rain as you can see, dad."

Lyall cried harder.

Behind them, Hope let out a breath that she'd been holding for nearly seventeen years and smiled.

The following days had been intense- after reluctantly explaining to his parents some of the atrocities he had experienced while he'd been gone, Remus had even more hesitantly explained that something did not sit right with him regarding the news being reported in the papers. To his shock, his mother had agreed.

"The whole thing is a mess," Hope stated firmly, laying her hand gently over her son's. "And if you're going to get to the bottom of it, you're going to need our help."

The following day, Hope (who was a social worker for the muggle government) broke out her husband's books regarding child welfare laws in the wizarding world. There were precious few of them- most seemed to have been created to ensure the continuation of the old pureblood lines- but she highlighted several regarding the legal requirements of the godparent bond.

_Sirius couldn't have brought harm to Harry- if he had, he'd have lost his magic._

Not to be outdone, Lyall stopped off at his law practice on Christmas Eve and had a quick word with his two partners- one of whom had been tapped to act as the prosecution in the future trial of Sirius Black.

"Bertie says that he regrets taking the case- every single character witness has been pro Black with the exception of Severus Snape, and no one will want to listen to Dumbledore's pet death eater at a trial." Lyall tapped one finger against his tea cup. "He did mention an ace in his pocket, but otherwise his entire case is going to rely on Peter's finger."

_Peter's finger. Something still felt wrong about that…._

It was after New Years when Remus realized why the matter of a single finger being left in the street bothered him.

"If only a single piece of him was going to be left over, it should never have been a finger," Remus explained, stabbing his finger at a muggle biology book he'd pulled out of his childhood library. "Look- the femur is thickest bone in the body. It doesn't even break down all the way during cremation. Teeth are frequently the only thing to survive fires or explosions. Logically, it should have been either of these- or maybe a rib or something- that they found from Peter. They definitely shouldn't have been able to find a _whole, intact finger_ when there was no sign of sturdy bones around. That's not how even dark magic works."

Lyall nodded, eyes scanning the skeleton on the page. "Dark magic- how do you know it was dark magic used?"

Brows raising in surprise, Remus frowned. "I suppose I don't- it was an assumption."

"We've no chance of getting a full written report at this point since the case is active, correct?"

"Based on my attempts to date- no. The bit of information I've collected has been second hand."

"Then son, perhaps it's time for a field trip to create a report of our own."

The pair spent the next morning preparing- in addition to needing appropriate disguises to safely and discreetly survey the scene of the crime, they needed a variety of magical and muggle forensic tools and investigation pieces for an appropriately thorough investigation. (Muggle items were attainable through a combination of transfiguration and a quick trip to their local shop, and magical items were, to Remus' surprise, an existing part of his father's office collection: "You'd be surprised how much ground work winning a case takes," Lyall had remarked dryly.)

At half past noon, they stood before their newly dubbed "adventure packs" and proclaimed themselves ready for an in-depth investigation.

"Right, car then?"

"Least traceable choice," Lyall agreed. "Go ahead and grab your boots- I'll meet you in the car."

Turning, Remus headed towards the boot bin in the front closet, only to be stopped by the sound of a sudden gasping breath. "Dad?"

"Actually, if you'll give me half a moment, I'm just going to take one second for a cup of tea before we go," Lyall murmured, an odd expression taking over his face. "I think… I think I just…"

The older Lupin sank slowly where he stood, clutching at his chest with one hand as he took shallow, panting breaths.

"Dad!"

It was good, according to St. Mungo's, that Remus had been there when his father collapsed. Heart problems required immediate attention- otherwise, even magic couldn't fix it. And it was good, according to his mother, that he and his father had spent so much time together over the few weeks Remus had been home- just in case. But Remus, who had lost his four closest friends, his honorary nephew, and his faith in the Order he had given up everything for over the past months did not see anything good about the situation.

It was all rotten.

All of it.

And as he leaned his head back against the cold, sterile while wall of a St. Mungo's corridor on January 6, 1982 and waited to be allowed to visit his father, Remus considered giving it all up. Going somewhere far away, and escaping the overwhelming tsunami of guilt and grief and anger that had been chasing him for sometime and which had, finally, caught up. He was halfway through an initial plan to leave for France, in fact, when he overheard two healers speaking in hushed tones at the other end of the hall.

"More than a bit disconcertin', I tell you. Imagine! Treating Professor McGonagall herself? I'm convinced she's as likely to tell me I've up an' butchered my grade as she is to say 'thankee Miss Cooper' for her treatment!"

_Professor McGonagall?_

"Oh, Shelly, you're being silly! The Professor has a reputation for being kind as can be- outside of class anyways. Even the Slytherins liked her!"

"They'd've had to, wouldn't they? Ambition can't go far without a passing grade in the core subjects, way I see."

"Fair enough- either way, treating Professor McGonagall for the dragon pox is quite the honor, _I_ think. I'd trade you positions in a heartbeat, and never mind the consequences. If I have to listen to one more parent complain about the new vaccination schedule, I'm likely to lose my mind."

_Dragon pox?!_

A chuckle, and then: "Mary, you know we can't- even if Professor McGonagall's illness is non-contagious and non-fatal, her treatment is apparently going to be at least a wee bit out of the norm. I've had to swear more oaths regardin' this one patient than I have since we got the Minister's wife in for- well, best not be continuin' that statement."

Remus cursed mentally as the pair moved out of his range of hearing. He glanced from the door of his father's room (where Lyall lay in a magically induced medical coma to allow him to process the extensive repair work his heart had required) towards the corner the healers had turned around.

He strode off after them.

Disillusionment charms would not work in the hospital- wards prevented them entirely- and he had no clue where James' invisibility cloak would have gone after his death. If Remus couldn't rely on stealth, he'd have to rely on being clever. Casting two quick refreshing charms on himself and his robes, he hurried to catch up to the green robed healers he had been listening to.

"Shelly Conner?"

The Healer turned around, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Yes?"

Remus smiled as charmingly (a look that James and Sirius had insisted he practice in front of a mirror with them for hours) and made a careful half bow. "I'm not sure if you remember me, but-,"

"Couldn' forget, could I?" Shelly's voice was suddenly warm. "Little Remus Lupin, all grown up. You were a second year when I graduated, weren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Mary, this is Remus Lupin. I doubt you'd have met him, you bein' in Ravenclaw, but he was a younger Gryffindor who I helped with herbology."

"Oh I know of him, alright," Mary said, eyebrow raising. "He was only two years behind me, after all, and no one could miss the Marauders or their pranks. Terrible what happened to your friends, Lupin."

Shelly shot her co-worker a censoring look (Remus supposed for her insensitivity) before smiling winningly at Remus. "What brings you here today? Anything I can help with before I start in on my rounds?"

"I appreciate the offer, but really, I'm taken care of. I wanted to say hi- my father had a massive heart attack, and is here recovering, and I thought a familiar friendly face would be a nice bit of distraction."

"Poor thing," Shelly murmured, "How long have you been waiting?"

"Since this morning," Remus' eyes fell to the floor, and he hesitated briefly. "I expect it'll be a lot longer. Induced sleep, you see. I've been… I have to say, its rather hard not to dwell when one has nothing to keep their hands busy, isn't it? I can't see how you stand to have blokes like me waiting and moping about."

"Most people just leave," Mary confided. "They ask us to lie and say they waited the whole time, like in a book or something, but rarely do they. You're sweet to have actually stayed with your father."

"Always was a hard worker," Shelly murmured thoughtfully. "Say, Lupin, what if I had something to occupy your mind for a bit?

In his mind, Remus crossed his fingers AND his toes just for good measure. "Anything I can do to be of service, Miss Cooper."

"Well, I've a certain professor we shared currently recuperatin'- totally safe, noncontagious and calm as can be- but I know she's bored as can be. Fancy cheerin' her up a bit for me? Entertainment for you both, see, and then I can come and get you if your father wakes up. I'll go ahead and add his name to my roster for updates either way."

Outwardly, Remus beamed gratefully.

Inwardly, he smirked.

"Miss Cooper, that would be wonderful- I can't thank you enough."

* * *

Minerva McGonagall was at the end of her rope- but, unfortunately, not even _close_ to the end of her hospital stay.

She had thought Poppy dramatic when the Hospital Matron insisted on an immediate visit to St. Mungo's, and only Dumbledore's paranoid insistence had seen her through the floo. The hospital staff had been no better- even Miss Cooper, who had been one of her favorite Gryffindors and a prefect for three years, had not given in to her insistence she was perfectly alright.

Admittedly, she had been feeling a bit fuzzy- but there were students to teach, and lessons to plan, and an entire school to oversee. Minerva McGonagall simply did not have _time_ for some rare, harmless strain of Dragon Pox.

Her flurry of owls to Dumbledore and the rest of the Hogwarts staff had included strict instructions for her classes, her house's students, and her normal duties for the next three weeks. Filius, her own deputy, had been the only one brave enough to write back and sarcastically note that thanks to her 79 page list of instructions, the school _might_ still be standing upon her eventual return.

Minerva sent him 31 more pages of instructions.

As if being sick and away from school weren't enough to rile up Minerva's ire, Filius had sent in Madam Calderon- who he had willingly admitted was a close confidante of the new Black materfamilias- to somehow "help" her.

"Filius asked you to break me out of here?" Minerva had asked the other woman, half skeptical and half hopeful. She detested hospital food.

Madam Calderon chuckled. "I'm afraid not, my dear. You see, the dragon pox is the very least of your health issues right now. I'm afraid someone has been playing with your mind."

"Tosh," Minerva countered, "I would know."

"Would you? How?"

"I'd likely see changes in my grading patterns- or I would regrade the same things, and not know why." _Though, hadn't that happened several times recently?_

"There would be odd conversations with colleagues, perhaps where they seemed to be experiencing deja vou." _Filius, Poppy, and Pomona have all looked at me askance during recent morning conversations._

"I wouldn't be able to recall certain events- and I remember the past two weeks in perfect detail." _Don't I?_

"And surely someone would have noticed." _Filius did notice._

Madam Calderon surveyed her quietly.

"Morganna," Minerva whispered, "My memories have been tampered with."

"Never fear, my dear," Madam Calderon consoled. "As I said, FIlius has asked us to help you, and we've already ensured you have a full three weeks rest to figure out exactly who has meddled with what."

(Lost in her own shock, Minerva missed the gleam in the other woman's eyes.)

"There will be a few additional potions on your tray with meals- make sure you take them all. In two days, they'll have had a chance to start healing your mind, and at that point I'll be bringing in a Memory Specialist to help you recover whatever was lost."

"A Memory Specialist?"

"Certainly- you'll recognize the name. Andromeda Tonks, though she was Andromeda Black."

It was with no little shock that Minerva put the pieces of the puzzle together: she had been compromised, and Filius, in a bid to protect their shared secrets and she herself, had thrown in their lot with the Blacks. Lines were being drawn in the sand all around her. Minerva had barely managed to nod her way through the brief remainder of the conversation 'til Madam Calderon finally excused herself.

Her mother's daily note about Harry- written in code amongst long rants about the neighbors and her nieces and nephews and the struggle of re-learning proper wand movements after so long without magic- was, it appeared, destined to be the only bright spot of her days in hospital custody. (Barely bright because, as her mother had made clear, this arrangement would not last forever. Further dimmed by Isobel's exceedingly pointed commentary on how nice it would be to have an actual magical teacher around. Absolutely dull when Isobel included a long lecture on the bad health habits that surely must have led to the dragon pox.)

Yes, things were incredibly bleak, and when the hospital staff swore they'd attach her to the bed if she refused to actually rest on the morning of January 6th, Minerva had gone into a full pout.

The rapid knock on Minerva's hospital room door when she'd only just begun drawing up a lesson plan for a theoretical Animagus class (which Dumbledore would literally never approve of, but a witch could dream) was met with a sharp spike of frustration.

There was a brief moment's pause, and then the knock repeated itself.

"Come in!" Minerva said through clenched teeth, eyes rising from the parchment before her as if to burn holes through whichever healer was daring to interrupt her brief entertainment.

The door swung open gently, Minerva prepared a tongue lashing to top all tongue lashings, and-

"Mr.- Gracious me! Mr. Lupin?"

"Good morning, Professor. I hate to bother you, but do you have a minute?"

Remus Lupin was barely 21 years old but had the serious countenance of a much older man. Just as clean and tidy as he had always been (albeit a bit more scarred), Remus looked vaguely apologetic as he hovered in the doorway. For the briefest moment, Minerva was six years younger and waiting for a much less worn teenager to talk his friends out of trouble for some ridiculous prank.

But then the moment ended, and Minerva was hit with fresh grief for what had been lost in the war.

"I didn't- Mr. Lupin, are you aware most of us have thought you dead or missing for months?"

The brow under Remus' sandy bangs furrowed slightly. "I'm sorry ma'am- but Dumbledore was the one who assigned me to the- did he not…?"

Minerva's eye gave into another twitch. "No. He did not."

"Well then. Not dead, at least." Remus' smile was absolutely humorless. "Actually, maybe we could discuss that as well- you see, I'm here because I have several other questions I'm trying to answer."

Sighing, Minerva pulled out her wand and called for her assigned room-elf. "Tea, Mr. Lupin?"


	45. Compassion for Chimpanzees

**A/N:** Two chapters this week to make up for last- unfortunately, this particular chapter just didn't come cleanly to me. If it wasn't semi-important to the vague idea of a plot we're working with, I'd have washed my hands of it all together. 

* * *

_January 7, 1982_

_4 Privet Drive, Surrey_

Melania and Arcturus Black popped into existence half a block from the Durlsey's home, gracefully continuing down the sidewalk without stumbling or breaking step.

Melania, arm tucked gracefully into her husband's, glanced around at the tidy matching houses and manicured flower beds. "They've at least better taste in their flowers than they do fashion. I thought Cassiopeia's elf was kidding when it brought these… outfits…. over."

"I couldn't agree more, my love." Arcturus glanced down at his powder blue linen suit, which was horrifically both button _and_ embroidery free, and winced. "Though I must say Mel, you look _quite_ ravishing in full heathen get-up."

Melania smirked, the caped shoulders of her dress rising in a brief shrug. "Is there anything I _don't_ look ravishing in, husband?"

Pausing to open the gate and gesture her through, Arcturus raised one serious eyebrow. "Certainly not."

It was just past six in the morning, and the sun had yet to show any inclination of rising. Neither did the Dursley family- the lights remained off, and all was silent inside.

"Do you feel any wards?"

"Nothing worth noting around the property itself, I think- certainly nothing that would blast anyone without the worst possible intent. But the house, I do believe, is specifically warded against the dark lord's followers and fire."

Melania scrunched her nose. "Pardon?"

"I know- nearly pointless."

"But why on earth would someone go to the trouble of creating blood wards and not bother with the full list of basics: flood, robbery, poisonous gases, and the like?"

"Lack of knowledge, I would think. Cassiopeia was told it was the child's mother whose magic protected him here, and she was a mu-muggleborn."

The pair exchanged a long, dubious look. Then, the gentlest touch of Arcturus' wand against the door sent it silently opening, and the pair stepped into the tidy house on Privet Drive.

* * *

Petunia Dursley was well aware that something was incredibly wrong when she woke up. She would be hard pressed to determine what, exactly, had first alerted her- how _does_ one choose between the metallic bite of wrist restraints, nearly suffocating atmospheric pressure, and the sound of completely unknown voices?

Regardless, when Petunia was brought back to consciousness at half past nine in the morning, she immediately panicked. "Dudley! Dudders! What have you done with my sweet angel baby?"

(Petunia could not know it, but in that moment- with her blonde hair undone and her pale green eyes flashing fire- she looked more like an Evans than she had since she first met Vernon Dursley.)

It took a long moment for Petunia to recognize that she had been tied up in her own parlor, as the space was hardly in the same condition she had left it the night prior. The Ostara sand wallpaper had been meticulously peeled back from the walls and left in tidy piles, and the thick shag carpet that Vernon had convinced her would match three years prior was rolled up against one wall. Photos were out of their frames, their knicknacks had been reorganized and- most concerningly- Petunia's prize floral print furniture set was hovering in the air as if to be kept out of the way.

There was only one possible explanation for the madness of all.

"Freaks! How dare you enter my home! Bring me my baby you horrible creatures! You terrible freaks! You ugly-,"

"That's a bit far, don't you think?" Petunia gaped as a khaki clad woman stepped around from behind her, tapping her wand on her palm like some sort of disapproving school matron. "'Freak' is an unoriginal and uncultured insult on its own. But I simply won't tolerate being called ugly."

"I want to see my son at once!"

"Yes, yes, I heard you. If I didn't have silencing spells up, the whole neighborhood would have heard you. Your baby is perfectly fine, so I would highly appreciate you behaving more like your husband."

Petunia glanced around, realizing for the first time that she was not trapped alone- Vernon was also tightly restrained in one of the chairs from their dinette set. Unfortunately, his normal bluster seemed to have abandoned him, and he was sitting in silent wide eyed shock with his mouth working hard under his thick mustache.

"We were told that none of your kind would be able to enter this house without our permission- that we'd be left out of the mess you freaks made of your own little world." Petunia insisted. "You shouldn't even be able to be here!"

The woman smiled. "Oh? And was that offer… totally free? Perfectly unconditional?"

Petunia's neck turned quite white, and her face quite red, but her shrill voice did not fail her. "Of course it was!"

A deep sigh, and then: "Naughty, naughty. Mrs. Dursley- we've been looking around your house for a few hours now, so I'm quite aware that you are lying. I wonder- were you going to try and tell me that your _dearly beloved_ little sister promised to keep magic away from you?"

The older woman moved closer to hold Petunia's chin as she stared defiantly into her eyes. "Oh, thats delicious. You _were._ "

The gripping fingers retreated, and one of the Dursley's heavily patterned recliners was floated over before settling firmly back on the ground. The woman settled into it gracefully, ankles crossed, and looked at the Dursleys thoughtfully, the way one might stare at a lobster right before dropping it into a stove pot.

"Please- my son. What have you done with my son?"

"It amazes me how genuine your concern for your child is. After all, a child disappeared from your home weeks ago and I can't find a single indication that you bothered looking for _him_."

Petunia paled.

"Ah, so you _haven't_ forgotten. I did wonder."

"We never asked for that brat, nor for the trouble that he brought with him!" Vernon had, it seemed, recovered both his senses and his voice.

"The trouble he brought with him?"

"Your freakish magic _always_ brings trouble," Petunia whispered, head falling towards her chest. "My parents, our home, my sister…. Magic destroyed it all. And that horrible little creature's freakish magic took away our future too."

"Pet- don't strain yourself, I'll take care of things-,"

"I just want to see my son! I can't lose another child Vernon!"

A bit of silence followed this particular shriek, and then the Dursley's captor frowned slightly. "Arcturus? Bring me the baby, please."

Petunia craned her neck to see a tall man in an immaculately pressed blue linen suit striding in from the hall, Dudley's bassinet floating along behind him like a trailing puppy. "Dudders!"

"He's sleeping- a charm I used on my own children quite a long time ago." The woman hesitated, eyes on her disapproving partner's face, and then waved her wand briefly through the air. Petunia's restraints melted. Softly: "I've lost a child of my own recently. Hold your son, Mrs. Dursley. I'll wake him when we're done with this conversation."

Petunia gathered the chubby toddler close to her- he was getting heavier every day, but that wouldn't stop her from holding him close, checking every hair on his head for some sign of abuse by the freakish intruders.

"Release my husband, too," Petunia finally demanded, voice thick and eyes glued on Dudley's own closed pair. "If you just want to have a conversation, you could at least pretend to be civilized."

The man- Arcturus- snorted. "One of you free is more than enough." He shot a censuring look at the thoroughly unperturbed woman in Petunia's parlor chair. "Melania-,"

His partner nodded. "Yes, yes. But darling, I have a funny feeling that we'd be better off looking at things from their perspective."

"You mean-,"

"Yes."

"On a _muggle_?"

"Yes, Arcturus."

A deep sigh. "Fine."

"Thank you. Mrs Dursley, do try to stay still. And I wouldn't struggle if I were you- you wouldn't like the resulting effect on your mind."

* * *

_January 7, 1982_

_4 Privet Drive, Surrey_

Petunia Dursley was well aware something was terribly wrong when she woke up. She would be hard pressed to determine what, exactly, had first alerted her- how _does_ one choose between the scent of burnt coffee, the sun streaming through the window (just how late _was_ it?), and the sound of a fussy baby?

Regardless, when Petunia was brought back to consciousness at half past noon, she immediately panicked. "Dudley! Dudders! What's wrong with my sweet angel baby?"

"Deep breaths now, Pet- little tyke is just exercising his lungs. He's healthy as can be, just listen to him!"

Vernon came into the bedroom smiling, Dudley balanced on one beefy arm. "Feeling better, Pet? Fever down, at least?"

"Fever?"

Vernon's smile faltered. "Well, yes, Pet- you were absolutely miserable when you first woke up this morning. I called in work to take care of Dudley so you could sleep."

Petunia frowned. She certainly didn't remember having a fever. Nor did she remember Vernon offering to stay home- and surely she would have, because Vernon had never offered to stay home. Not even when-

A sudden sharp pain ran directly behind Petunia's eyes and she groaned, thought abandoned. "Right," she murmured, "Well, I suppose I'm still a bit under the weather- but I think Dudley needs fed, love."

"Right away," Vernon said, watching her tuck herself tidily back under the covers before curling up into a small ball. "Little tyke and I will just go have tea now."

"Yes, yes," Petunia murmured, and watched Vernon leave for the kitchen through half closed eyes. _A fever_ , she thought as she began to drift back towards sleep, _I was sure there was something else. It must have all been a bad dream._

* * *

_January 7, 1982_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

"That was more than those horrid muggles deserved, my love." Silver eyes bright over the rim of his tea cup, Arcturus watched his wife consideringly. Melania quirked her lips in the delicate semblance of a smile.

"I know."

"Why, then?

Melania rose and walked to the window, staring away from him into the night. In her nearly sheer silk robe, wet hair cascading down her back, Arcturus thought she looked every bit as beautiful as she had on their wedding night. (It was only the grief in her eyes when she turned back to him that spoke of the decades they had weathered together since then.) "Muggles aren't meant to be enchanted so heavily."

"You pity the creatures for what was done to them?"

"How could you not? I would pity a chimpanzee in such a situation, Arcturus."

"Fine, fine. Let them have their peace while it lasts." Arcturus brushed his wife's fiery irritation aside with one hand. "After all, the family council will condemn them soon enough."


	46. Prepare

_January 8, 1982_

_Longmoore Street, London_

_Very, very early in the morning_

Alphard Black was a notoriously light sleeper. A dedicated mind healer might suggest that this was the result of a traumatic childhood spent with Walburga and Cygnus, but Alphard rather smugly accredited it to his 'stellar reflexes'.

(There had been more than one occasion when his Quodpot teammates were horribly disappointed at the failure of their planned pranks due to Alphard's uncanny ability to become immediately alert if someone so much as breathed in his direction.)

Whether it was Alphard's deeply ingrained fear of his vicious siblings or his stellar reflexes that alerted him to a presence in his bedroom at half past two in the morning was hard to say, but the result was the same regardless: Alphard sat straight up in bed as if on a coiled spring, wand in hand and pointed in the direction of a very small creature.

A very small _creature_ , indeed.

"Mistress' nephew is being very jumpy. He is also having very pathetic wards." The house elf's condescending whisper was surprisingly familiar, and after a brief moment of bleary confusion Alphard realized why.

"Pillow? Pincushion? Pipsqueak? What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Pip is _very certain_ that her mistress' nephew is not calling her _Pipsqueak._ "

There was a sudden pop! Near Alphard's ear and his own house elf was standing on his pillow with a cast iron skillet in hand. "Master, we is having a _very_ rude visitor."

Bemused, Alphard nodded warily. "Oh?"

Quod nodded sharply, teeth bared at their visitor. "She is claiming all sorts of ridiculous things Master- she is even saying she is the Supreme Leader!"

Feeling very much like he might still be dreaming (a fever dream, perhaps), Alphard snorted. "Well thats a new one."

"As her mistress' head of staff, Pip _is_ your Supreme Leader, you naughty elf!"

"Quod isn't serving House Black, only Master!"

"Er- about that. Technically, my family magic was pretty heavily involved in our bond," Alphard rubbed the top of his head sheepishly.

" _MASTER!"_

Pip smiled smugly. "Pip was trying to tell you so."

"It's quite a lot of magical power to create a new bond, you see, and we had a game the next day, so I didn't want to be totally drained…."

" _MASTER ALPHARD BLACK!"_

"Sorry, Quod, really- I can ask my aunt if it can be made right. I never even considered it when we moved back to this side of the pond. But, Pincu- Pip. Pip, it isn't polite to order around other people's elves, even if they are family."

Pip did a rather impressive little summersault up onto the bed and crossed her arms. "Pip is having messages for her mistress' nephew and his elf. Will you be remembering everything if I give them to you right now?"

Alphard nodded, still a bit abashed by the absolutely censuring look that his house elf was levelling at him. (It promised some form of retribution, and Quod was entirely too crafty for Alphard to feel comfortable with that.)

"Missy Cassiopeia's nephew should make plans to distract the guards when he is feeling our signal tomorrow. They must not know that you and Sirius Black are being called to a full family council. You is having a full hour from the signal to prepare."

"Distract the guards?"

"Yes."

"The guards from _Azkaban_?"

"Certainly."

Alphard grinned. "Quite the lark, that. And I don't suppose she left a single suggestion for how to do it."

"Pip is suggesting you is poisoning them, but her Mistress might not like it."

 _Merlin I hope that was a joke._ "What time should I expect the signal?"

"If there was being a time, Missy Cassiopeia wouldn't have to give you a signal, would she? However-," the elf whipped a thick day book from an unseen pocket, "Pip is planning for her Mistress to call council during afternoon tea."

(A nagging voice in his head-another point of survival left over from his time living with Walburga and Cygnus- thought to question the safety of taking tea prepared by an elf who so calmly mentioned poison. Fortunately, the Blacks did have actual (necessary) rules in place about where one could acceptably poison a family member, and in the middle of a council was definitely not on the approved list.)

"And the other message?"

"Is being for your poor elf," Pip said firmly, and- _wow, her tune towards Quod changed awfully quickly didn't it?_

Quod looked skeptically at the other elf as if equally suspicious of the creature who had called him naughty only moments prior.

"Pip is telling Quod that he must manage his wizard better, because there is _repercussions_ for naughty boys who don't send progress reports to their Head of House on time." Pip's hands settled firmly on her hips and her nose rose two more inches in the air. "And while Pip is talking about _repercussions for naughty nephews_ , she will tell Quod about how being a family elf is better when your Master is making you angry."

Entirely too intrigued for Alphard's personal comfort (or perhaps safety would be the correct word?), Quod lowered his frying pan. "Oh? Quod was never planning to be an old family house elf. The United States doesn't take kindly to the old families, after all."

"Don't worry- Pip is showing you everything you need to know. Your Supreme Leader is helping you take care of _everything_."

Alphard gulped.

* * *

_January 8, 1982_

_Chateau Black, France_

_Morning tea time_

Helen Granger and Elvira Zabini had very little in common. Raised in completely isolated worlds and imparted with wildly different values, the pair would never have come into contact at all if not for Cassiopeia's interference in their lives.

However, there was at least _one_ thing they could agree on.

"I hardly think it's appropriate for a _house elf_ to be given permission to set the children in time out." Narcissa Malfoy's eyebrows jumped into her hairline as she peered down her nose at the shaky house elf who had been called from the main estate to watch the children while their mother's took tea.

Helen and Elvira shared a single long suffering look before Helen, taking a fortifying breath, finally responded. "The old families have relied on house elves for years, Narcissa."

"I know you're French, dear, and that your family's traditions may be different, but you must understand that in England such things are simply _not done._ "

Helen, who was decidedly _not_ French and who was quite uncertain why on Earth Narcissa would think so, declined to correct the other woman. (Perhaps this was all a part of Cassiopeia's odd, secretive plans.)

"Cissy, _we_ were raised by elf nannies." And thank Morganna for Andromeda, who had agreed to come to tea with equal parts amusement and exasperation- she knew full well why Elvira Zabini would have deigned to send her a _personal invitation._

"The Malfoy's have a different approach."

"Oh, I know." Andromeda sent her younger sister a censoring look, which seemed to say ' _Do you really want to get into a full blown duel over discipline and the lack of it in your household in front of these people, because I am more than happy to do so if I must'._

Cheeks pink, Narcissa backed down from the issue and waved a hand breezily. "I suppose five minutes on a step will be fine _if_ Draco actually _did_ kick Nymphadora. Do tell him that I won't tolerate crass physical violence- that's a horribly muggle behavior to indulge in."

The house elf popped away, and Elvira and Helen shared a brief look of exasperated relief.

"I wanted to see how you'd all feel about a different sort of play date next time," Andromeda said, intentionally oblivious to her sister's pout and the clear irritation of the other women in the room. "There's a special on the evolution of wands in the Magical Children's Museum in London next week that Dora would absolutely enjoy, and I thought you lot might appreciate it as well."

Elvira frowned. "I don't think I've seen any of their programming- is it more educational or theatrical?"

"A nice mix, in my opinion. Ted and I have tried to take Dora at least once a month or so since she was about your childrens' age- they have a variety of different exhibits that are constantly changing. It's certainly a better introduction to wizarding history than the one she'll get at Hogwarts."

"I thought Hogwarts was the premier institution of the nation- do they not teach history?" Helen asked, surprised. "My schools have always placed an emphasis on the importance of knowing history so that one isn't doomed to repeat it."

Narcissa let out a decidedly unladylike snort. "Oh, Hogwarts does have a history class- but it's taught by a ghost who only remembers the goblin wars."

"Binns can't even provide an accurate overview of the goblin wars," Elvira sighed. "Complete waste of time, and its embarrassing how he never once mentions the rest of the world's magical history." Turning very intentionally to Helen: "It is one reason that the muggleborns are so behind, and stand out in our world."

Helen hummed in acknowledgement.

"Regardless, the wand exhibit should make for a fun day. If we catch the morning showing, we'll have time for tea before naptime."

("If naptime still existed," Elvira murmured into her teacup. Her father was the only one who could coax her highly observant child into closing his eyes.)

"I'll have to check with Daniel and send you an owl to confirm, but otherwise I'd be interested." In actuality, Helen would not only have to confirm that Daniel was willing to cover her scheduled patients but also with Cassiopeia, who had warned her that it would be quite tricky to pass as maybe-probably-a-witch in certain wizarding locations.

With a perfectly wicked smile, Elvira nodded. "Blaise would likely enjoy it if Hermione does- if nothing else, he does enjoy their play dates."

Frowning heavily at the suggestion that her own child had been left out of several arranged play dates, Narcissa tapped her fingers across the table before reaching for a tea sandwich. "We'll join as well. An educational field trip is always a joy- speaking of, have any of you had a chance to look at the book list I sent last week?"

Helen brightened perceptibly. "I did! Actually, I asked Pip to procure them for me immediately, and have made it half through. I was actually quite astounded by how late most of the authors you suggested recommended introducing mathematics."

"Math is of secondary importance compared to language," Elvira countered. "After all, languages are the root of the spells we use everyday, and knowing multiple opens doors to other nations."

(The education of their children had quickly become the absolute safest- and, frankly, most enjoyable- of the topics that the four women could discuss during these carefully planned play dates which were (according to Isla and Cassiopeia) vital to the long term success of House Black.)

Andromeda shook her head thoughtfully, thinking of the muggle math classes her own child had attended- they had been extraordinarily useful already. "Perhaps, but consider the importance of math in arithmancy, in potions, or even runes- not to mention daily life. Being able to count money, for instance, is an immediately necessary skill."

Narcissa, quite certain of herself: "Not when you have a reliable banker."

"But how will you know if your banker is reliable if you can't check their math to keep them honest? They might be-,"

A sharp _pop!_ interrupted Helen's defense of one of her own favorite subjects, and the four mothers turned to see Pip standing in the doorway of the conservatory with a fresh pot of tea and three wax sealed envelopes on a silver tray above her head. "Missy Cassiopeia is inquiring about her guests' comfort."

_(This was, of course, patently untrue, as Cassiopeia was actually in her laboratory working on a new potion for the Longbottoms and had completely forgotten that she'd offered use of her home for the playdate. But Pip was comfortable assuming that making guests think her mistress had some good manners was a part of 'taking care of everything else'.)_

"Perfectly content, thank you," Helen smiled at the elf who had become one of her favorite new family members (no one else seemed to worry about safety the way she did). "Though you might pop in on the children- I asked Bing to help them build a fort in the solarium so they could take some sun, and I'm sure he doesn't want to take his eyes off of them for the amount of time it would take to assemble snacks."

Snapping her long fingers, Pip sent the teapot soaring round the table to fill each woman's cup. "Pip will be taking them more biscuits and milk at once, Missy Helen. Pip is also bringing letters from her mistress."

The three envelopes floated gently through the air and landed in front of Andromeda, Helen, and Narcissa.

"Pip is being sorry, Missy Isla's daughter, but they is being for family matters."

Elvira waved a single dismissive hand through the air, her eyes caught on the parchment in Helen's hand. A tiny smile played around her lips. "I assure you- the last thing I want is to be Called for another family's council."

* * *

_January 8, 1982_

_Chateau Black, France_

_Morning tea time_

Draco Malfoy, bless his boots, had very mixed feelings about play dates.

On the one hand, it was _different_ playing with other children. At home, his mother read him soft-cornered books and his father took him for long broom rides, but there was no one to build forts or cause mischief with (Dobby was not particularly fun- he worried too much about _everything)_.

Also, play dates so far had meant wonderful adventures. Draco had been absolutely thrilled by the Nutcracker (all of that dancing and jumping!), and even Great Aunt Cassiopeia's house was more fun than his playroom- there were dozens of hidey holes to explore and new pieces of furniture to jump off of.

On the other hand, Draco had rapidly realized that play dates meant prolonged exposure to Elves (which should not be confused with house elves, even if they did look sort of alike). Elves (always with a capital E) were terrifying creatures who corrected his manners and his posture and his attitude, always in the name of keeping him from being an embarrassment to the family. Worst of all, they withheld biscuits whenever he got fussy.

On the bright side, the Elves treated the other play date attendees exactly the same.

"Bing is being _very_ disappointed in you children," the Elf before him lectured, "You is _all_ needing five minutes on the naughty step and then we is going to be discussing why biting is just as bad as kicking."

Sat in a row at the bottom of the staircase leading to the solarium's second level, Draco, Blaise, and Hermione stared at Bing with confused, resigned, and irritated expressions on their (respective) young faces.

"They were only playing," Nymphandora offered from across the room where she was carefully reconstructing the recently demolished play fort.

"Bing is not thinking that playing storm the castle looks very fun when all of the soldiers fight one another."

Nymphadora giggled and ducked under a wall of pillows when the younger children glared in her direction.

"What is going on here?"

Draco froze on the step.

"Bing is putting the little childrens in time out for not playing nicely," the Elf said, shaking his finger at the trio on the steps once more before turning to the new arrival.

"Pip is thinking they is needing snacks. But if they is not being good, Pip cannot bring them any special biscuits."

Turning slowly, Draco's silver eyes widened when he recognized the Supreme Leader. He hadn't seen this most terrifying Elf since they went to the Nutcracker, but the impression she had left was clearly a strong one.

"Biscuits!" Hermione squealed, "Biscuits Pip! Biscuits!"

"Wait, I can have the special biscuits, right?" Nymphadora's face reappeared from inside the fort. "I was being good!"

The Supreme Leader shook her head. "Pip is thinking that it is all or none of you getting special biscuits."

"Biscuits!" Hermione repeated. "Biscuits please!"

Draco marveled at her nerve.

"Well, maybe if you all promise to be good for Bing for the rest of the morning," the Supreme Leader offered, squinting her oversized eyes at them.

"Yes, ma'am," Blaise offered quickly.

"Pllleeeaaassseee Pip?" Hermione wheedled. "I'll be good!"

The Supreme Leader frowned, and fixed her gaze on Draco. "And you young man?"

Draco squeaked. "Supreme Leader!"

Pip stood up straight and smiled broadly. "Special biscuits for everyone it is then."

* * *

_January 8, 1982_

_Granger Corporation, London_

_Late afternoon_

Marius Granger was right in the middle of trying to decide which of two research projects deserved improved funding when his twin sister- quite literally- came flying out of his fireplace.

"Cass, I do have a secretary. A secretary who is going to be very confused as to how you got in here," Marius sighed as he watched Cass brush Floo dust off her sleeves. She had at least thought to wear muggle clothing (and Marius needed to remember to ask her where she had gotten the heavily padded rose blazer, as Agnes would love the cut), but the thought of his secretary asking questions made him a bit anxious.

"Bonjour to you too little brother. Don't worry, I won't be here long."

Marius eyed her warily, then sighed as he gestured for her to take a seat in one of his high backed guest chairs. "I'm not even a minute younger than you, as you well know."

Cass waved a hand airily. "Facts are facts, Marius, don't argue. I'm here to ask for a favor."

"Of course you are."

"Tomorrow I will be calling a full family council to discuss the intentional abuse of Dorea's grandson."

Marius' eyes widened. "Dorea's grandson?"

"Yes, our sister Dorea."

"Dorea's grandson Harry Potter?"

" _Really,_ Marius. I know you get the paper now, and the child's name is all over it- do please try to keep up."

"I thought he was somewhere safe!"

"He is now." Cassiopeia frowned. "Say, you don't happen to have biscuits do you?" When her brother nodded and silently reached into his desk for a tin, she continued. "You'll learn the details tomorrow, but for now, suffice to say that Albus Dumbledore assumed magical guardianship of the boy and placed him with a rather unsavory muggle family. I have Arcturus and his wife looking into it."

"Why on earth would you ask _them_ to investigate a muggle family?"

Cassiopeia shrugged. "I don't particularly _like_ Arcturus, but he is family. I thought he deserved a chance to prove his loyalties."

Marius was unconvinced. "Surely there are better ways than setting him on-,"

"He was told to be discrete- and Melania will keep him in check. She, at least, is quite bright. And for all his flaws, Arcturus was a forensic investigator during the war. The only other person I would have trusted the job to was Pollux, and I think he'd faint if I sent him on a _mission._ " Cassiopeia looked a bit troubled. "He desperately needs a project."

Snorting, Marius took one of the biscuits from the tin for himself. "Don't look at me- we barely get on. And frankly, I think he's terrified that I'm contagious."

"We probably should have never let him marry that horrible woman," Cassiopeia agreed with a sigh, then tossed her head as if to shake her worries away. "But back to the situation at hand- tomorrow, family council, Dorea's grandson, our plan. Your favor."

"Do you remember the last time you needed a favor and it was to borrow my entire family?" Marius asked pleasantly. "Me, too."

Cassiopeia silenced him with a look. "I need you to make sure that Helen and Daniel won't be caught out- I'll be controlling the wards, but they'll need a full education on the call and responses, the customs… the works."

"And you can't handle it? You're a better teacher than I am, Cass- and its been several decades since I've participated in a council."

"I actually can't. I'm working on a time sensitive potion for the Longbottom's, and I need it ready for Andromeda to test before the meeting tomorrow if we're to stay on Pip's ridiculously rigid timetable." Cassiopeia grinned. "That means I have to leave it in your hopefully capable hands."

Marius sighed. "Tell me why Daniel and Helen seeming magical for now is so important to you?"

Standing, Cassiopeia snagged a handful of biscuits from the tin before striding back to the fireplace and grabbing a second handful of Floo Powder. "The issues with Pollux's family and Dorea's grandson won't last forever. Phase two of my plan to restore our family is going to require a little bit of cunning. But I'll let you figure out what that means for yourself. Consider it another project. _Chateau Black_!"

"Cass!"

A solid knock on the door made Marius jump, and he turned to see his bewildered secretary Komal's face. "Mr. Black, why on earth are you screeching?"

"Thought I saw a… mouse?"

Komal gave him her patented I-am-definitely-calling-your-wife look and sniffed. "I'll bring you tea."


	47. Calling Council

**A/N:** Word of warning that this family council, much like the last, will be split over 2-3 chapters. If you prefer reading in chunks, I recommend coming back in 3 weeks and reading them all together then. Additionally, if any reader knows of a way to add pictures, please let me know! I've sketched out a master family tree for my own benefit, and think that you'd all find it useful as well (particularly in chapters like these). If I have to start an Instagram just for this fic, I'll feel horribly awkward about it, but I'm willing. Just let me know!

A moment of appreciation for all of you who have taken the time to read, review, follow, favorite, and share this story! When I first picked up my pen (read: keyboard) with this idea, I had really low expectations. Now, I talk about you guys all the time and you've been the bright spots of my week. Please keep sharing your opinions and your ideas going forward- and thank you so much for inspiring me to keep writing!

That's enough sap from me now- cheers, thanks again, and have a WONDERFUL week!

* * *

_January 9, 1982_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

Standing still in the center of Black Manor's Head of House office which she had so recently taken over from her older cousin, Cassiopeia Black stared intently at the family tapestry. In the weeks since her blood and magic had subverted Albus Dumbledore's ill-fated attempt to alter it, nothing else seemed to have been tainted. Frankly, Cassiopeia still wasn't sure if this was because Dumbledore had been struck down by the family magic before he could fully accomplish his goal, or if the family tapestry was really just impervious to meddling on the part of outsiders.

It was one of a half dozen questions she hoped to have answered by the end of the day.

Stepping forward, Cassiopeia ran a long finger across the line that bound she and her siblings together, then down the line that connected Dorea's silver apple to her son's, finally ending on young Harry Potter's vibrant green outline. Tiny purple sparks danced from the fabric of the tapestry, and the Black Materfamilias smiled. _The child remains safe, and happy._

Cassiopeia and Isla had spent several extremely long evenings discussing Harry Potter, his current caretaker, and the best time to bring him back into the fold.

" _We mustn't rush it, unless the boy is unhappy or needs otherwise must," Isla had cautioned regretfully. "If we rush now, we may lose him later."_

" _I defer to your judgement on the matter- you're the master of subtlety, not I," Cassiopeia had murmured, brow furrowed as her dearest friend's lips quirked upward at the unexpected praise. "But I do feel that Dorea would be displeased."_

"Displeased indeed," Cassiopeia murmured again now, pressing her hand to the vaguely steaming silver border around her younger sister's youthful image. "None of this is as you would have done, but you're just going to have to watch and see how my latest experiments progress anyways."

"Is Missy Cassiopeia being ready?"

Cassiopeia cast a chilling smile over her shoulder at her house elf. "I do believe, Pip, that the real question here is: Are they?"

Raising the ceremonial knife that had been waiting in her other hand, the Materfamilias quickly slashed open her palm and watched as fresh blood was drawn to fill the family crest on the tapestry's trunk.

It was time for her second family council to begin.

* * *

Family councils, always a serious occasion, had been held in the largest dining room of Black Manor for as long as Cassiopeia could remember. Featuring a congregation of Blacks from around the country, satellite and contract family members, and even potential suitors, _those_ councils had been made up of a minimum of 30 people and as such there was nowhere else they could all fit. As such it had been rather eye opening (regarding the family's plight, that is) when only two months prior, the manor's smallest dining room had been more appropriate for the motley crew of Blacks who had emerged from the Blood War (relatively) unscathed.

But things were already changing.

Much like the now more heavily laden limbs of the silver-trunked tree on the family tapestry, the long table of the _third largest_ dining room groaned under the weight of over 20 place settings and enough tea to feed them all.

(Pip, well aware of both the expected length of the event and the relatively soothing effect that vast quantities of food had on people, had put together an almost ridiculous spread: brioche tea sandwiches with salmon/cucumber and chocolate/almond/raspberry fillings, butter pecan crumpets, an excess of battenberg cake, three different types of deviled eggs, dozens of scones with cream and jam, hot and flaky hand pies, citrus madeleines, chevre and walnut tartlets, turkey waldorf bites, no less than a dozen varieties of tea, champagne of a good vintage, and milk for the little ones expected to attend. There was additionally a very high-stacked plate of biscuits directly in front of her mistress' seat.)

Munching on a shortbread biscuit, her case board lying in wait beneath a pale linen sheet behind her, Cassiopeia watched as her recently expanded family were delivered by magic and left to flounder through determining their place at the table.

Melania and Arcturus were first (of course, living there, it'd have been almost awkward not to be). Cassiopeia had noted when she arrived that they seemed oddly tense, as if some odd disagreement had come between them and they were unsure how it would resolve.

(She didn't need to consult anyone's tea leaves to guess what that might have spurred from.)

The previous paterfamilias and matriarch waited to seat themselves towards the middle of the table till their daughter and her husband arrived. Lucretia and Ignatius both bowed briefly down the table in acknowledgement of the family Head, and Lucretia called out some

A staccato set of cracks of magic and Cassiopeia's closest relations were delivered en masse. Pollux, trapped in the midst of them all, very hesitantly side stepped till he was on the edge of the vast crowd composed primarily of Grangers and very hesitantly offered his younger brother his hand.

"Why, Pollux," Marius returned the hand with no small amount of surprise. (He held very little ill will towards this particular relative, despite the total hand-washing Pollux had done when Marius had left for the muggle world- it was hard to bear hatred for a man so resolutely determined to try to please everyone around him, for better or worse.) "How have you been, brother? Our sister fusses that she doesn't see you."

"I hardly _fuss_ about lack of visitors," Cassiopeia interjected drily. "Rather, I fuss when I see wasted potential."

Arcturus, irritable: "Pollux has enough to deal with without you breathing down his neck."

Marius, exasperated: "Pollux has had a rather trying time lately, don't you think?"

Startled, the pair turned to glare at one another across the room.

Remembering the violent food fight of their last family meeting, Pollux looked from his cousin to his brother, gulped, and, in a moment of surprising initiative, turned to welcome the relatively neutral Helen and Daniel. "A pleasure to see you again, Helen, Daniel, and Heir."

"Ah, yes, the _dragon rider_." Arriving silently, Cygnus moved to take a seat at the end of the table without pausing to acknowledge his Head of House. "Still have a tongue tie curse on that last name, do you?"

Daniel and Helen exchanged a brief look before Daniel smiled widely, pulling a chair out for his wife near the head of the table. "You can stick with Dragon Rider."

Cygnus huffed.

A sudden crack of magic delivered Callidora, and, to much of the table's surprise, three other Longbottoms as well. Callidora's husband and her children's feelings had clearly changed regarding her maiden family- not only had Harfang allowed himself to be magically pulled through the link, their eldest son and daughter had come too. Edmund Longbottom was well known for his international work conserving rare magical flora and fauna, and his sister Lysandra was a healer with a near-marital dedication to improving pediatric care. When they inclined their heads in Cassiopeia's direction, she smiled cheerfully- as Callidora's marriage contract had been intentionally written to stop the Longbottoms from being beholden to the Black family's instruction, their interest in the family council was quite a coupe.

Opening up the family council to the full family, rather than only blood and ranking members, had been the right choice this time.

The Malfoy and Tonks families arrived side by side, Andromeda and Narcissa in nearly matching jewel toned robes and their husbands with perfectly opposite expressions: Lucius sneered around the room with a level of irritation that suggested he'd been interrupted while working on his scale model manor while Ted smiled and waved cheerfully down the table with no concern for the nearly palpable tension in the air. It was young Nymphadora who stole the show however- no sooner had she bowed formally (just as Auntie Cissy had insisted she learn at tea the week prior) to her two-times-great aunt than she was being mobbed by her younger cousins.

"Dora! Dora! Dora!" Hermione squealed, hopping off of her chair next to Cassiopeia to bodily throw herself at the older girl.

"My cousin," Draco muttered mutinously, shooting a glare in Hermione's direction as he tugged one of Nympadora's arms to his little chest.

(Nymphadora had become the clear leader of the play group in thanks to both age and metamorphmagus ability- none of the toddlers could resist the faces she pulled at them. Unfortunately for both Draco and Hermione, while Nymphadora was _their_ favorite, Blaise was most certainly hers. She found his habit of combining multiple languages into long babbling sentences to be every bit as chaotic as one could ask for.)

"Don't despair grandson, there are enough questionable characters here to go around," Cygnus muttered from his seat, only to wince when Callidora cheerfully kicked him under the table. "Why you-,"

"Pleasant as ever, father. Really, the most questionable person _I_ see here is you. And maybe-," Andromeda glanced from her brother-in-law to her sister and cut herself off. Lucius flipped his long ponytail behind his shoulder and glowered in her direction knowingly.

"Draco, Dora and Hermione are _both_ your cousins," Narcissa said patiently, laying her palm gently on the top of her son's head as she ignored the fuss going on around her.

"And I'm not a tug of rope," Nymphadora grumbled mutinously, carefully disengaging both smaller children. Faced with their downtrodden expressions, she huffed and turned her nose into a pig snout. "Happy now?"

The delighted baby giggles made the entire room smile, and from his seat Pollux stared at the group in surprise. "That is quite the talent, great-granddaughter."

Abandoning her family with little concern, Nymphadora scrambled into the seat beside him. "It's awesome, right? Daddy says it's like a comic book superhero power, but better 'cause it's me."

"Have you learned how to change your voice along with your features yet?"

The child stared in amazement. "I can do that?"

Pollux nodded firmly. "Oh, most definitely. The last metamorphmagus in our family is said to have perfected the technique, and I in fact have possession of their journals."

Unnoticed at the end of the table, Cassiopeia and Marius exchanged a long, pleased look.

A final crack of magic, this time quite loud, interrupted the conversations taking place along the table and the entirety of the room turned in their seats as one to stare at the pair in the doorway.

Alphard, cheerful as ever in his rather scandalously cut American robes, grinned and waved. The ends of his shoulder length hair were looking a bit fried, as if a house elf had accidentally electrocuted him just a bit over breakfast, and he was huffing out gasping breaths of air that suggested he had just pulled quite an A-level prank to escape the guards in his home. But none of these things drew a single person's eye, because for all of his boisterousness, Alphard was not a recently released and dubiously innocent prisoner of Azkaban.

Sirius Black had, at Hogwarts, been voted the most attractive boy in his year more than one time. His long dark curls, aristocratic features, and stormy eyes crackling with family magic made him enigmatic, and his prowess on both the Quidditch pitch and the battle field had made him strong and limber. If his looks didn't impress, his devil-may-care attitude and cheerful good-nature certainly did.

But that Sirius Black was no more. That Sirius Black had been whittled away by 54 horrible days in Azkaban spent drowning in guilt for a crime he did not commit, burdened by the knowledge that the small family he had built for himself had completely deteriorated.

This Sirius Black was a far cry from the picture of health (though Alphard had done his best to both clean and feed him up, some wounds took more time than magic to heal). His hair was longer, his eyes were haunted. The robes Alphard had gotten him hung off his frame despite the tailoring charms in them, and he rather looked like a particularly strong gust of wind might blow him over.

But this Sirius Black did have one thing in common with his prior self: an unfettered sense of humor tied to a penchant for mischief.

"Hullo there, family. Long time no see."

Cassiopeia eyed him, bemused. _The boy will do nicely for our plans, after all._ "Sirius Black, we are pleased to have you join us. Find your seat."

There was a final spluttering crack of magic that apparently signaled a failed delivery, and then, finally, the magical tension in the room eased.

"A single broken call- who among us is missing?" Cassiopeia intoned formally, despite knowing full well who she had sent only the weakest call to.

From Marius (who'd been instructed beforehand): "Harry Potter, location kept safe."

Cassiopeia's stormy eyes flashed with magic, and her lips spread into a dangerous smile. "Then it is with this accounting that the Black family comes to council."


	48. Longbottom Update

**A/N:** Thank you everyone for your response and help with the photo posting! I thought about it through the week, and finally decided that it would be easier for me to go the Instagram route in order to keep the chapters posted on FFN and AO3 identical. So with several champagne mules for courage (and my brother making fun of me loudly in the background), I settled in and created an account. I have the same username (elphabalives17) and the profile pic is a Ravenclaw embroidery hoop I made for a friend. I'll be posting both inspiration from throwback chapters as well as new ones PLUS my hand drawn family tree on an ongoing basis. If you have ever asked me about fanart, I am more than happy to display it on the instagram and credit you if you send it my way!

Reminder: updates once a week between Mon and Weds, and I appreciate each of you and your feedback endlessly!

* * *

_January 9, 1982_

_Black Manor, Somerset_

" _What_ is _he_ doing here?!"

Not three seconds into the family council, and Cygnus was already causing a scene. Cassiopeia raised a single brow down the table at her nephew and tried to remember if Pip or Isla had won this particular bet.

"I'd say it's a pleasure to see you too, Uncle Cyg, but frankly some of the dementors were more pleasant company," Sirius said cheerfully, his less irritable uncle snickering into his tea beside him.

"Why you dreadful little- Aunt Cassiopeia! There is a _murderer_ at this table and I will not-!"

"Father, have you not kept up with the paper lately?" Narcissa's calm voice cut cleanly through her father's bluster. "If you had, you'd be aware that Cousin Sirius is doubtfully guilty at best."

"I _have_ been reading the papers, but even I must admit myself a bit surprised to see you here in the flesh boy. Aren't you meant to have been rendered into Alphard's custody?" Callidora demanded.

Sirius grinned. "I _am_ in his custody."

"As in, in his custody while on house arrest."

"Well, we are in a house are we not?"

Callidora snorted, but the hint of a smirk played across her wide features (Callidora appreciated word play as much as any other Black).

"If that is settled then?" Cassiopeia called back the entire lot's attention, moving to stand behind her own chair and tapping her wand against her thigh until the murmuring quieted. "Now then- we've _quite_ the full itinerary, and while I do appreciate your bickering from a scientific perspective, I'd rather not run out of biscuits before we get halfway through. As such, I've prepared a time table for you."

A quick swish of her wand vanished the drape over Cassiopeia's case board, and an asymmetrical pyramid of parchment appeared on the first side. Each parchment piece was an equally sized square with a brightly colored letter and a time limit scrawled across it in large block print.

"Right, I don't suppose that this meeting will require any less sobriety than the last?" Alphard eyed the steaming pots of tea lining the table before glancing around as if a brandy decanter might appear if he willed it hard enough. "That's a lot of letters you've put together up there."

"If we go more than three hours, we'll break out the wine- otherwise, I'm afraid you'll have to use a less liver-rotting coping mechanism nephew."

(On opposite sides of the table, Agnes and Ignatius smirked to themselves as they topped off their glasses with flasks from their own pockets- clearly, the only winners here had planned ahead.)

"Are we supposed to know what your bloody letters stand for, then?" Arcturus demanded.

"Of course not, cousin- that would spoil my personal delight in your own suspense." _Or start a riot when you've all had too much time to consider each topic._ "Never fear, I'll decode them for you one at a time. You all see the time notes under the letter, yes? Good. Thi is the duration of time I have allowed for the presenter to speak on their topic, though questions will be welcomed for as long as anyone requires. After all, the key to good education and pioneering research is asking questions, and I'd be amiss as a researcher if-,"

Marius coughed gently.

"Yes, yes. The first topic it is then."

Cassiopeia waved a hand at the board and the parchment titled 'A' flipped itself over to reveal, in aquamarine ink: _Longbottom Family Update_.

(If the pleased look on Callidora's face and the surprised expression on Harfang's own were anything to go by, then the pair had been at odds over whether or not they would have to actually ask for an update during the meeting.

 _At least one little success, then._ )

"I must say, it's quite handy that you've all joined us today," Cassiopeia nodded to four Longbottoms' corner of the table, "as I believe Augusta will be more comfortable accepting your word than my own. Andromeda, Narcissa- the table is yours."

"Thank you, Aunt." The Black sisters stood in graceful unison and walked to the front of the table. "If you wouldn't mind?"

"Of course not, niece. Allow me to…," Cassiopeia paused to send the case board spinning with a flick of her wand, scooting her seat closer to Hermione's in order to have a better view of the presenters.

The case board stopped spinning, a new side presented to its audience. On it, a timeline had been constructed out of parchment scraps, photos, tiny vials of potions and memories, medical reports, and an auror statement; united by a long scrap of light blue ribbon and spelled to stay in place.

"On October 31st, the Dark Lord moved to attack the Potter family, whose fidelius had been betrayed. When news broke on November 1st, Frank and Alice Longbottom intentionally broke their own fidelius and returned to the home gifted to them by Frank's mother for their wedding." Narcissa pointed a genteel finger towards a photo of Toadstool Cottage, where Frank and Alice stood beaming on the front stoop in their wedding robes.

"As you all know, it was on November 7th that Bellatrix Lestrange, Bartemius Crouch Jr., Rodolphus Lestrange, and Rabastan Lestrange attacked and assaulted the Longbottom family while they were eating dinner. According to both this Auror report and this trial document, Bellatrix and Crouch attacked the wards while the Lestrange brothers cast anti-apparition curses and otherwise sealed off all possible magical points of exit. Left with limited options, Frank and Alice appear to have chosen to secure the safety of their only child rather than take the risk of being caught with a highly vulnerable infant in crossfire." Andromeda paused, looking down the table to where Callidora's eyes were glistening. "While Alice finished hiding their son, Frank attempted to single handedly battle the four intruders. Unfortunately, as far as we can tell based on the forensic timeline the Aurors reconstructed, both were overpowered and then put through over eight hours of continuous torture. It is unknown how much of this they were aware during, though it is known that their attackers were looking for information about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's whereabouts."

Moving her finger along the bright blue ribbon for emphasis, Narcissa tapped on a newspaper photo of a shell shocked Augusta Longbottom with young Neville in her arms, staring sightlessly out at the crowd of reporters with Toadstool Cottage and bright yellow caution tape in the background. "The Longbottoms were unconscious by the time that Augusta was called to them, but Aurors insisted they not be moved from the premises until it could be ascertained that there were no time-sensitive or motion-related curses placed on their persons. The team who did eventually handle the emergency floo evacuation made the dubious medical choice to transport them using levitation."

In a perfectly coordinated motion, Andromeda and Narcissa flicked their wands through the air and whispered a short incantation to bring delicate blue and green sparks whirling through the air. The green sparks, directed by Andromeda, quickly shaped themselves into the outline of a mediwizard, while the blue sparks turned to the outline of a regular wizard on the ground.

"There are two reasons I describe this evacuation choice as being dubious. The first is fairly straightforward- levitation is typically _only_ meant to be used on conscious individuals who have been harmed or fallen ill due to a non-magical incident or substance. This code has several exceptions written in for emergencies, none of which applied to the Longbottoms at their time of transport. The second reason is of greater importance here: the use of additional magic on cursed patients prior to diagnosis can be highly detrimental to their care. For instance…."

The green mediwizard lifted a sparkly green wand, and slowly the blue wizard rose higher into the air- only to begin violently spasming and crash back to the floor.

"This is a pantomime of the result of levitating a patient who has been exposed to a Lung Lock curse. The patient asphyxiates and often expires within a matter of minutes due to the additional magic interfering with their body." Narcissa paused. "I have seen this myself, and while it is an extraordinary dark example, it is a poignant reminder that magic does as many terrible things as it does beautiful."

The table watched in shocked silence as the blue patient seemed to recuperate- or maybe reset itself was the better term- on the ground. A green table on wheels appeared beside the mediwizard.

"Due to the limited knowledge of the results of additional magic on crutacius curse victims, the medical team onsite should have used a standard gurney for evacuation." The wheeled table was lowered, and the mediwizard's outline gently loaded the patient onto the top before slowly winking out of existence. "I would like to here note that Andromeda and I have advised Madam Longbottom to file an inquiry as to why improper procedure was followed."

Andromeda stepped forward once more. "Frank and Alice remained in the care of St. Mungo's until December 3rd, when Augusta agreed to accept Aunt Cassiopeia's offer of attempted treatment. At that time, their couple's Head Healer- Healer Whittington- agreed that the standard magical mind healing was not doing anything for either Frank or Alice and handed over the files of all procedures attempted under St. Mungos' direction. Aunt Cassiopeia subsequently created a treatment task force composed of myself, a memory specialist; Narcissa, who had a base education in healing; a French muggle mind-healer; and herself."

A light tap of her wand on the blue ribbon sent it gliding to the left, the discussed dates disappearing and the remaining timeline growing larger.

"The first real breakthrough we made was a week before Christmas, when a potion created by Aunt Cassiopeia allowed us to closely review their magical cores over the period of several days. At this time we realized that Frank and Alice's magical cores are not just blocked as St. Mungo's determined- instead, they're being _drained._ Constantly."

As Andromeda gestured to a potions vial on the timeline, Narcissa called a series of brilliant blue sparks that formed into a bowl, with a pitcher over it. The pitcher poured a slow, consistent stream of sparks into the bowl, but an outlined hole in the bowl left the sparks escaping down to the carpet before it could ever begin to accumulate.

"What you see here is a visualization of what is happening in their cores. Even as their magic rejuvenates, it is being siphoned off and redirected. Additional research showed us that it is being redirected to their brains."

"Majority of you lack a thorough understanding of the crutacius curse. So, as you may or may not know, the forbidden torture spell leaves no visible marks, and yet those afflicted by it report the most severe pain imaginable. When we combine this insight with traditional muggle medicine, we can surmise that the curse is actually directly attacking the nervous system- the highly complex part of our biological makeup that coordinates its actions and sensory information by transmitting signals to and from different parts of the body." Realizing the blank stares coming from every corner of the table, Narcissa sighed. "The nervous system essentially is your brain's way of communicating a response to environmental or physical factors to your body- it tells you that you are hot, or cold… or being tortured."

"Based on this collective of information, we hypothesized," (Cassiopeia beamed at the word choice), "that when the crutacius curse was applied to their nervous systems for such an extended period of time, their magic attempted to buffer or negate the effects by essentially shutting off multiple passageways in the brain. It was essentially a fight-or-flight, high adrenaline response, except with magic. At first, it likely just numbed the pain. But when the torture continued, in addition to the stress and fear that both doubtlessly felt, their magic went into overdrive and additionally blocked their emotions, their thoughts…. Unfortunately, it worked too well- and from what we can tell, is still working."

The exceedingly detailed report of potions trials and treatments given by the sisters as they continued was as fascinating as it was disturbing- modern magical medicine had not delved so deeply into the mind, into what one's own magic would do to protect it. But Frank and Alice Longbottom had become the perfect example of the extreme lengths a witch or wizard's magic would go to survive.

The erratic behaviors and occasional violence they had displayed at St. Mungos had been easily treated once their treatment team realized the extent that the constant magical drain had on their physical selves- and, fortunately, dozens of potions existed to at least ease that constant drain. Potions, an extremely nutritious diet overseen by both a muggle dietician and the house elves, and daily fresh air were slowly giving them back at least a healthy pallor and normal sleep cycle. The muggle mind healer- described by Andromeda as a 'psychiatrist'- had additionally recommended muggle techniques and medications: physical therapy, music therapy, art therapy….. The daily activities ran on and on.

But it was Cassiopeia's latest potion, theorized over by the entire team and worked on tirelessly by the Black Materfamilias herself, that they hoped would bring about a more tangible result: this potion would, hopefully, completely repress their magic.

"Repress…. You'd make _muggles_ of my godchild and his wife?" Callidora demanded when the presentation opened to questions, her eyes wide and horrified as she clutched her own wand in her hands.

"I promised to do what I could to bring back Frank and Alice from the state they've been left in, and Augusta has agreed that they'd be better off sane than magical."

"You'd make squibs of them!"

"And what's wrong with that?"

The table turned in surprise to Agnes, a fierce expression on her face as she topped off her tea with her flask before she turned grim eyes on each of them. "You heard me, each of you. What's wrong with being a squib? My father was a squib. My husband is a squib. And frankly, both men are worth twice what any of you are. A _blood_ war? Did you learn nothing from the last war? Nothing from the hundreds of thousands of muggles who died for something equally asinine?"

Agnes took a deep breath and met Callidora's eyes directly. "You'd rather rob a child of his parents, a mother of her son, the world of two seemingly decent people, and them of their own faculties, than see either lose their magic? Something that billions of people live without every day?"

Callidora stared at her in shock.

(Across the table, Arcturus looked incredibly torn between snickering at his least favorite cousin being taken to task or being disgusted at the nerve of the muggle at his table. Melania, at least, had no such reservations.)

"I'm sure mother means that there should be another way- something more amenable to a total rehabilitation," Lysandra murmured, "There was no offense intended to you or yours."

Cassiopeia stood. "Any further questions?"

Harfang glanced from his wife to the case board and scowled. "Surely that isn't the _end_ of this discussion, Madam Black!"

"The decision lies with your own Head of House, and Madam Longbottom has agreed with Agnes that it is better that Alice and Frank be given back their lives than their magic. Theoretically, with more time, maybe we could have a total solution- and frankly, I don't expect us to need to repress their magic forever." Cassiopeia was deathly serious now, the firm tone of her voice typically only heard during her Potions Seminars. "But the damage to their long term mental health- their ability to come back- if we do not at least end the pressure of the crushing magic wrapped around their minds now? I have done the math, I have written out the probability charts, and frankly, they are not good."

Callidora made a noise somewhere between a sob and a gasp.

"Augie gave her support?"

"She did. We will attempt the first round of the trial in the coming week, now that my final experiments are complete."

Edmund patted his mother's hand gently. "Mum, I know how much you adore Frank and Alice- and Frank is like a younger brother to us. Perhaps it would be good for us to sit with…. With Mrs. Granger, was it? To sit with Mrs. Granger, and learn more about life without magic. That way, we can help prepare Frank and Alice for their new world."

Agnes nodded firmly. "That can be arranged."

"Well then- again I ask, any final questions?" Cassiopeia glanced around the table to see a rather wide array of emotions but very little confusion. "Lovely, then we will-,"

"Missy Cassiopeia is forgetting that the little ones need a break."

Surprised, Cassiopeia glanced around the incredibly bored- and in Draco's case, sleeping- faces of the youngest of those gathered. "Did we have a plan for this?" she murmured to her house elf, who had appeared directly beside her with a quiet _pop_!

"Yes, Missy Cassiopeia."

"Good, good, that's what I thought- please execute on that, then. Quickly, if you please."

Pip tipped her eyes towards the ceiling behind her mistress' back in a gesture entirely too unrespectable for any other Black house elf. "Of course, Missy Cassiopeia."

Popping around the side of the table, the little elf snapped her fingers and sent first Hermione, then Draco, and finally Nymphadora floating into the air behind her in a line like some odd trio of mismatched ducklings.

"Dragon!" Hermione cooed. "Roar!"

("She's so bloodthirsty," Helen sighed.

Narcissa nodded encouragingly. "It's wonderful, dear- she fits right in."

Marius groaned.)

"Hey!" Nymphadora protested, "I'm old enough to stay!"

"But would the little shape shifting great-great-niece prefer to stay, or would she prefer to play hide and seek in the solarium?"

"Bye mum! Bye dad!"

"Narcissa- we aren't really letting that elf take our child, are we?"

"Of course we are, darling- I'd hate for him to feel left out."

Lucius sighed.

"If that would be all then?" Pip asked, eyes glued to her mistress as Cassiopeia reached for another biscuit (the elf was keeping count- so far, they were not at the point of needing kale cookies again, but vegetable soup for dinner was definitely going to be a must).

"That'll do for now, Pip." Cassiopeia, oblivious to the world with a shortbread in her hand, idly waved her wand towards the board. "Onto the next discussion, then."

The parchment marked B in blood red in flipped itself over- written in bright burgundy ink was _Sirius Black_.

"What would you like to discuss Auntie? Grades? Girls? Boys? Hobbies?" Sirius grinned cheerfully at his Materfamilias as he leaned his chair back onto two legs. "I've a mean tap dance routine memorized, if you'd prefer it."

"While I would positively enjoy Arcturus' reaction to a tap dance number on his table-,"

From Arcturus: "There will be no _feet_ on my table!"

From Sirius: "Ah, a prop!"

"- I'm afraid we _do_ have necessary time constraints. Please restrict yourself to an explanation of your relationships with the Potters, your work in the Order of Phoenix, and your resulting imprisonment."

"How do you know about the Order of Phoenix?"

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, woman?"

Ignatius and Cygnus glared at one another across the table as they spoke over one another.

"Sirius?"

"The Order of Phoenix was-,"

"Boy, do you really want to betray _Albus Bloody Dumbledore_?" Ignatius demanded, eyes flashing despite Lucretia's hand tap-tapping on his own.

Sirius frowned down the table at him, for once as solemn as his name implied. "Albus Dumbledore's freedom fighter organization suffered more casualties than the aurors and in the end, it was a _baby_ who stopped Voldy. I don't think discussing the Order is out of bounds."

"Now seems like a _particularly_ good time to remind everyone at this table, irregardless of where you fall in House Black's line, that your presence here tonight, be it willing or otherwise, binds you to secrecy unless I personally permit you otherwise." Cassiopeia paused thoughtfully. "I should also probably mention that if you try to break that oath, the family wards will zap you. And in the interest of honesty, I have no idea how to stop them or fix you up if they do, because frankly you all are so much trouble that I haven't had a spare moment to read the handbook."

"Cass," Marius murmured reproachfully.

"Yes, yes- I decided to bring them all together, I know. Ignatius, let me be perfectly candid with you. Albus Dumbledore may well be the greatest wizard of his generation, but he is a meddler, and he is a foolish one at that. You'll hear his name repeated at least a dozen more times this evening, and frankly, I have a feeling he will be called to trial by the family before we're through."

"Madam, how could you say such things?" Lysandra looked deeply troubled, her mouth a soft 'o' of surprise. "Albus Dumbledore is a _hero_."

"Maybe he was," Cassiopeia murmured, "But times do change. I won't ask your blind faith- only your open ears and silence as you are provided with the information that the family has gathered."

Harfang's large hand smacked roughly against the table, momentarily upsetting a pile of tea sandwiches at his side. "As if we can be sure what you say is the truth!"

"Well, it's funny you say that!"

Arcturus groaned. "Oh bloody hell."

"And in fact, I'm so excited you did!"

"Bloody Longbottoms," Cygnus growled. "You just had to go and say it."

Edmund looked puzzled. "Say what?"

"Pip!"

"She might not have got the blasted thing out if you hadn't opened your gob."

"May I at least use the loo first? It's a bit unnerving knowing that going too far past the toilet might kill you."

" _What?!"_

"Pip is bringing Missy Cassiopeia's friend's ward stone."

"Excellent, Pip- return to the children. Now then, who remembers what this is?"

Narcissa sighed heavily. "It appears to be yet another ward stone of Madam Calderon's creation, Aunt."

Cassiopeia beamed in her direction as she held a palm sized piece of carved obsidian in the air. "Precisely, you've caught it again my dear. It has the exact same enchantments as the last, as that one worked so perfectly. Would anyone like to share its effects with the group?"

Alternating blank and irritable stares centered in on the Black Materfamilias, but she ignored them. After an uncomfortably long silence, Lucretia sighed and raised her hand.

"Yes, darling?"

"Cousin Cassiopeia's ward stone ensures that no one will be able to move further than 5 yards away from her until I ends the enchantment placed upon it. If you try to leave without her permission, the ward's second purpose will go into effect and you will be killed."

"Cass!" Marius exclaimed, horrified, his uproar taken up by the other newcomers ar the table.

"What now, brother? I did ensure that if I stand in the doorway, anyone can safely reach at least two of the closest loos."

"And before you ask, apparently there's no use just killing her outright," Arcturus said, his tone rather glum for a man contemplating murder, "If you do, there will be no effect on the ward and we'll all remain stuck within five yards of the corpse until we die ourselves."

"Wonderful memory, cousin! And who remembers the third purpose?"

"The ward stone keeps us honest- and if Walburga was any indication, it will literally drag the truth out of your throat whether you'd like it to or not when you're directly asked a question. Fight it and it might actually kill you." Alphard glanced at his nephew warningly, an intense message in his stormy eyes. "That's the gist, right?"

"Wonderful recitation, all of you!"

"Cassiopeia, this is outrageous!"

"Why would you demand I come if these are the conditions?"

"Mother, is this really how your family-,"

Sirius' barking laughter silenced the table. "Well then, this should make it easy. Settle in everyone, and we can get on with what I think I will title: The Exciting, Marvelous, Suddenly Dreadful Tale of Sirius Black."


End file.
